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PAUL DOMBEY 


FROM 


DOMBEY AND SON 


BY 

CHARLES DICKENS. 


ABRIDGED FOR USE IN SCHOOLS. 


EDUCATIONAL PUBLISHING COMPANY 
BOSTON 

New York Chicago San Francisco 



library of CONGRESS 

TwoCooies Received 

MAR 201906 

Oowrlght Entry 
CLASS XXc. No, 
COPY B> 


Copyrighted 

By educational PUBLISHING COMPANY 
1906 


R^eceived from 
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CAPTAIN CUTTLE 





Young Folk’s Library 

OF 

CHOICE LITERATURE, 


Paul Dombey, 

Dombey sat in the corner of the darkened 
room in the great arm-chair by the bedside. Son 
lay tucked np warm in a little basket bedstead on 
a low settee immediately in front of the fire and 
close to it, as if like a muffin it was essential to 
toast him brown while he was very new. 

Dombey was about eight-and-forty years of 
age. Son about eight-and-forty minutes. Dombey 
was rather bald, rather red, and, though a hand- 
some, well-made man, too stern and pompous in 
appearance, to be prepossessing. Son was very 

5 


6 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


bald, and very red, and though (of course) an 
undeniably fine infant, somewhat crushed and 
spotty in his general effect as yet. On the brow 
of Dombey, Time and his brother Care had set 
some marks, as on a tree that was to come down 
in good time — while the countenance of Son was 
crossed and recrossed with a thousand little creases, 
which the same deceitful Time would take delight in 
smoothing out and wearing away with the fiat part 
of his scythe, as a preparation of the surface for 
his deeper operations. 

Dombey jingled and jingled the heavy gold 
watch-chain that depended from below his trim, 
blue coat. Son with his little fists curled up and 
clenched, seemed, in his feeble way, to be squar- 
ing at existence for having come upon him so 
unexpectedly. 

” The house will once again, Mrs. Dombey,” 
said Mr. Dombey, "be not only in name, but in 
fact Dombey and Son — Dom-bey and Son ! ” 

The woi’ds had such a softening influence. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


7 


that he appended a term of endearment to Mrs. 
Dombey’s name, (though not without some hesita- 
tion, as being a man but little used to that form 
of address) and said, "Mrs. Dombey, my — my 
dear.” 

A transient flush of faint surprise overspread 
the sick lady’s face as she raised her eyes towmrds 
him. 

" He will be christened Paid, my — Mrs. 
Dombey — of course.” 

She feebly echoed, " Of course,” or rather 
expressed it by the motion of her lips, and closed 
her eyes again. 

"His father’s name, Mrs. Dombey, and his 
grandfather’s ! I wish his grandfather were alive 
this day ! ” And again, he said, " Dom-bey and 
Son,” in exactly the same tone as before. 

Those three words conveyed the one idea of 
Mr. Dombey’s life. The earth was made for Mr. 
Dombey and Son to trade in, and the sun and 
moon were made to give them light. Rivers and 


8 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


seas were formed to float their ships; rainbows 
gave them promise of fair weather; winds blew 
for or against their enterprises; stars and planets 
circled in their orbits, to preserve a system of 
which they were the centre. Common abbrevia- 
tions took new meanings in his eyes, and had 
sole reference to them. A. D. had no concern 
with anno Domini, but stood for anno Dombei — 
and Son. 

He had risen, as his father had before him, 
in the course of life and death, from Son to 
Dombey, and for nearly twenty years had been 
sole representative of the Arm. 

There had been a girl some six years before, 
and the child, who had stolen into the chamber 
unobserved, was now crouching timidly in a corner, 
whence she could see her mother’s face. But 
what was a girl to Dombey and Son? In the 
capital of the House’s name and dignity, such a 
child was merely a piece of base coin that couldn’t 
be invested — a bad Boy — nothing more. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


9 


Mr. Dombey’s cup of satisfaction was so full 
at this moment, however, that he felt he could 
afford a drop or two of its contents, even to 
sprinkle on the dust in the by-path of his little 
daughter. 

So he said, "Florence, you may go and look 
at your pretty brother, if you like, I daresay. Don’t 
touch him ! ” 

The child glanced keenly at the blue coat and 
stiff white cravat, which, with a pair of creaking 
boots and a very loud ticking watch, embodied her 
idea of a father; but her eyes returned to her 
mother’s face immediately, and she neither moved 
nor answered. 

]N^ext moment the lady had opened her eyes 
and seen the child; and the child had run towards 
her; and, standing on tiptoe, the better to hide 
her face in her embrace, had clung about her with 
a desperate affection very much at variance with 
her years. 

" Oh, Lord bless me ! ’’ said Mr. Dombey, 


10 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


rising' testily. "A very ill-advised and feverish 
proceeding this, I am sure. I had better ask 
Doctor Peps if he’ll have the goodness to step np 
stairs again, perhaps I’ll go down. I’ll go down. 
I needn’t beg you,” he added, pausing at the 
settee before the fire, " to take particular care of 

this young gentleman, Mrs. ” 

" Blockett, sir? ” suggested the nurse, a sim- 
pering piece of faded gentility, who did not presume 
to state her name as a fact, but merely offered it as 
a mild suggestion. 

” Of this young gentleman, Mrs. Blockett.” 
''!N^o, sir, indeed. I remember when Miss 

Florence was born ” 

"Ay, ay, ay,” said Mr. Dombey, bending over 
the basket-bedstead, and slightly bending his brows 
at the same time. "Miss Florence was all very 
well, but this is another matter. This young gen- 
tleman has to accomplish a destiny. A destiny, 
little fellow ! ” As he thus apostrophized the 
infant, he raised one of his hands to his lips and 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


11 


kissed it; then, seeming to fear that the action 
involved some compromise of his dignity, went, 
awkwardly enough, away. 

Doctor Parker Peps was walking up and down 
the drawing-room with his hands behind him. 

"Well, Sir,” said Doctor Parker Peps, in a 
round, deep, sonorous voice, muffled for the occasion, 
like the knocker, " do you find that your dear 
lady is at all roused by your visit? ” 

Mr. Dombey was quite discomfoited by the 
question. He had thought so little of the patient, 
that he was not in a condition to answer it. He 
said that it would be a satisfaction to him, if 
Doctor Parker Peps would walk up stairs again. 

"Good! We must not disguise from you, 
sir,” said Doctor Parker Peps, " that there is a 
want of power in Her Grace, the Duchess — I beg 
your pardon — I confound names ; I should say in 
your amiable lady. That there is a certain degree 
of languor, which we would rather not see.” 

To record of Mr. Dombey that he was not in 


12 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


his way affected by this intelligence, would be to 
do him an injustice. He was not a man of whom 
it could properly be said that he was startled or 
shocked; but he certainly had a sense within him, 
that if his wife would sicken and die, he would be 
very sorry, and that he would find a something 
gone from among his plate and furniture and other 
household possessions, which was well worth the 
having, and could not be lost without sincere 
regret. Though it would be a cool, business-like, 
gentlemanly, self-possessed regret, no doubt. 

His meditations on the subject were soon in- 
terrupted, first by the rustling of garments on the 
staircase, and then by the sudden whisking into 
the room of a lady rather past the middle age 
than otherwise, who, running up to him with a 
kind of sci'ew in her face and carriage, expressive 
of suppressed emotion, flung her arms round his 
neck, and said in a choking voice, 

" My dear Paul ! he’s quite a Dombey ! ” 
"Well, well ! ” returned her brother — for Mr. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


13 


Dombey was her brother — "I think he is like the 
family. Don’t agitate yourself, Louisa.” 

"It’s very foolish of me,” said Louisa, sitting 
down, and taking out her pocket handkerchief, 
" but he’s — he’s such a perfect Dombey ! I never 
saw anything like it in my life ! Well! after this 
I forgive Fanny everything!” 

" But what is this about Fanny herself ? ” said 
Mr. Dombey. "How is Fanny?” 

" My dear Paul,” returned Louisa, " its nothing 
whatever. Take my word, it’s nothing whatever. 
There is exhaustion, certainly. An etfoi't is neces- 
sary. That’s all. If dear Fanny were a Dombey ! — 
but I dare say she’ll make it — I have no doubt 
she’ll make it. And that etfort,” she continued, 
taking off her bonnet, and adjusting her cap and 
gloves in a business-like manner, " she must be 
encouraged, and really, if necessary, urged to 
make. Now, my dear Paul, come up stairs with 
me.” 

Mr. Dombey, who had really faith in her as 


14 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


an experienced and bustling matron, followed her 
at once to the sick chamber. 

The lady lay upon her bed as he had left 
her, clasping her little daughter to her breast. 
The child clung close about her, and never raised 
her head, or moved her soft cheek from her mother’s 
face, or looked on those who stood around, or 
spoke, or moved, or shed a tear. 

" Restless without the little girl,” the Doctor 
whispered to Mr. Dombey. "We found it best to 
have her in again.” 

There was such a solemn stillness round the 
bed and the two medical attendants seemed to 
look on the impassive form with so much compas- 
sion, and so little hope, that Mrs. Chick, the 
sister, was for the moment diverted from her pur- 
pose. But presently summoning courage, and, 
what she called presence of mind, she sat down by 
the bedside, and said in the low, precise tone of one 
who endeavors to awaken a sleeper, " Fanny ! 
Fanny ! ” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


15 


There was no sound in answer but the loud 
ticking of Mr. Dombey’s watch and Doctor Parker 
Peps’ watch, which seemed in the silence to be 
running a race. 

Fanny, my dear,” said Mrs. Chick, with 
assumed lightness, here’s Mr. Dombey come 
to see yon. Won’t you speak to him ? They 
want to lay your little boy — the baby, Fanny, 
you know; you have hardly seen him yet, I think — 
in bed; but they can’t till you rouse yourself a 
little. Don’t you think it’s time you roused yourself 
a little ? Eh ? ” 

She bent her ear to the bed, and listened, at 
the same time looking round at the bystanders, 
and holding up her finger. 

^’^Eh?” she repeated, ''what was it you said, 
Fanny ? I didn’t hear you.” 

N^o word or sound in answer. Mr. Dombey’s 
watch and Doctor Parker Peps’ watch seemed to 
be racing faster. 

"jS^ow, really, Fanny, my dear,” said the 


16 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


sister-in-law, altering her position, and speaking 
less confidently, and more earnestly, in spite of 
herself, ” I shall have to be quite cross with you, 
if you don’t rouse yourself. It’s necessary for you 
to make an effort, and perhaps a very great and 
painful effort which you are not disposed to make; 
but this is a woidd of effort, you know, Fanny, 
and we must never yield when so much depends 
upon us. Come ! Try! I must really scold you 
if you don’t ? ” 

The race in the ensuing pause was fierce and 
furious. The watches seemed to jostle, and to 
trip each other up. 

" Fanny ! ” said Louisa, glancing round with 
gathering alarm. " Only look at me. Only open 
your eyes to show me that you hear and understand 
me — will you ? Good Heaven, gentlemen, what 
is to be done ! ” 

The two medical attendants exchanged a look 
across the bed; and the physician stooping down, 
whispered in the child’s ear. I^ot having under- 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


17 


stood the purport of his whisper, the little creature 
turned her perfectly colorless face and deep black 
eyes toward him, but without loosening her hold 
in the least. 

The whisper was repeated. 

" Mamma ! ” said the child. 

The little voice, familiar and dearly loved, 
awakened some show of consciousness, even at 
that ebb. For a moment, the closed eyelids trem- 
bled, and the nostril quivered, and the faintest 
shadow of a smile was seen. 

" Mamma ! ” cried the child, sobbing aloud. 
" Oh, dear mamma ! oh, dear mamma ! ” 

The doctor gently brushed the scattered ringlets 
of the child aside from the face and mouth of 
the mother. Alas, how calm they lay there — how 
little breath there was to stir them. 

Thus, clinging fast to that slight spar within 
her arms, the mother drifted out upon the dark 
and unknown sea that rolls round all the world. 


18 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


LITTLE PAUL’S NURSE. 

I shall never cease to congratulate myself/’ 
said Mrs. Chick, on having said, when I little 
thought what was in store for ns, — really as if I 
was inspired by something, — that I forgave poor, 
dear Fanny everything. Whatever happens, that 
must always be a comfort to me ! ” 

Mrs. Chick made this impressive observation 
in the drawing-room. The mantua-makers up 
stairs were busy on the family mourning. She 
delivered it for the behoof of Mr. Chick, who was 
a stout, bald gentleman, with a very large face, 
and his hands continually in his pockets, and who 
had a tendency in his nature to whistle and hum 
tunes, which, now, in a house of grief, he was at 
some pains to repress at present. 

How’s the baby. Loo ? ” asked Mr. Chick. 

What baby do you mean?” answered Mrs. 
Chick. I’m sure the morning I have had, with 


PATIL DOMBEY. 


19 


that dining-room down stairs one mass of babies.” 

” One mass of babies ! ” repeated Mr. Chick, 
staring with an alarmed expression about him. 

”It would have occured to most men,” said 
Mrs. Chick, " that poor dear Fanny being no 
more, it becomes necessary to provide a nurse ! ” 

" Oh ! ah ! ” said Mr. Chick. " Toor-rul — 
such is life, I mean. I hope you are suited, my 
dear.” 

" Indeed I am not,” said Mrs. Chick, " nor 
likely to be, so far as I can see. Meanwhile, of 

course, the child is ” 

" Going to the very deuce,” said Mr. Chick, 
thoughtfully, " to be sure. Couldn’t something 
temporary be done with a teapot ? ” 

If he had meant to bring the subject prema- 
turely to a close, he could not have done it more 
effectually. After looking at him for some moments 
in silent resignation, Mrs. Chick walked majesti- 
cally to the door, attracted by the sound of 
footsteps. 


20 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


There soon appeared in the room a plump, 
rosy-cheeked, wholesome, apple-faced young woman, 
with an infant in her arms; a younger woman not 
so plump, but apple-faced also, who led a plump 
and also apple-faced boy, who walked by himself; 
and, finally, a plump and apple-faced man, who 
carried in his arms another plump and apple-faced 
boy, whom he stood down on the floor, and ad- 
monished, in a husky whisper, to " ketch hold of 
his brother Johnny.” 

" You, I suppose,” said Mrs. Chick, pointing 
to the apple-faced man, " are the husband of a 
nurse I was expecting. "Will you have the 
goodness to come a little forward, sir ? ” 

The apple-faced man, having sheepishly com- 
plied with this request, stood chuckling and grin- 
ning in the front row. 

” This is your wife, of course,” said Mrs. 
Chick, singling out the young woman with the 
baby. 

Mrs. Chick now entered into a close examina- 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


21 


tion of the wife, her children, testimonials, and so 
forth. The wife, coming ont nnscathed from the 
ordeal, Mrs. Chick withdrew with her report to 
her brother’s room, carrying the two rosiest Toodles 
with her — Toodle being the family name of the 
apple-faced family. 

Mr. Dombey had remained in his own apartment 
since the death of his wife, absorbed in visions of 
the youth and education of his baby son. 

" These children look healthy,” said Mr. Dombey. 
” But to think of their some day claiming a sort 
of relationship to Paul ! Take them away, Louisa ! 
Let me see this woman and her husband.” 

"Mrs. Chick bore off the tender pair of 
Toodles, and presently returned with that tougher 
couple whose presence her brother had commanded. 

"My good woman,” said Mr. Dombey, turning 
round in his easy-chair as one piece, and not as a 
man with limbs and joints, "I understand you are 
poor, and wish to earn money by nursing the 
little boy, my son. I have no objection to your 


22 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


adding to the comforts of your family by that 
means. So far as I can tell, you seem to be a 
deserving object. But I must impose one or two 
conditions on yoii, before you enter my house. 
While you are hei’e, I must stipulate that you 
are always known as — say as Richards — an 
ordinary name, and convenient. Have you any 
objections to be known as Richards ? You had 
better consult your husband.” 

As the husband did nothing but chuckle and 
grin, and continually draw his right hand across 
his mouth, moistening the palm, Mrs. Toodle, after 
nudging him twice or thrice in vain, dropped a 
curtsey, and replied "that perhaps, if she was to 
be called out of her name, it would be considered 
in the wages.” 

"Oh, of course,” said Mr. Dombey. "I desire 
to make it a question of wages altogether.” 

"You have children of your own,” said Mr. 
Dombey. "It is not at all in the bargain that 
you need become attached to my child, or that 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


23 


my child need become attached to you. I don’t 
expect or desire anything of the kind. Quite the 
reverse. When yon go away from here, you will 
have concluded what is a mere matter of bargain 
and sale, hiring and letting; and will stay away. 
The child will cease to remember you; and you 
will cease, if you please, to remember the child.” 

Mrs. Toodle, with a little more color in her . 
cheeks than she had had before, said ” she hoped 
she knew her place.” 

" I hope you do, Richards,” said Mr. Dombey. 

” I have no doubt you know it very well. Indeed 
it is so plain that it could hardly be otherwise. 
Louisa, my dear, arrange with Richards about money, 
and let her have it when and how she pleases.” 

Meanwhile terms were agreed upon between 
Mrs. Chick and Richards ; and Richards being 
given the Dombey baby, resigned her own, with 
many tears and kisses, to her sister Jemima. 
Glasses of wine were then produced, to sustain 
the drooping spirits of the family. 


24 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


"You’ll take a glass yourself, sir, won’t you?” 
said Mrs. Chick, as Toodles appeared. 

" Thankee, Mum,” said Toodles, " since you 
are so pressing.” 

"And you’re very glad to leave your dear, 
good wife in such a comfortable home, ain’t you, 
sir ? ” said Mrs. Chick. 

"No, Mum,” said Toodle. "Here’s wishing of 
her back again.” 

Polly, the wife, cried more than ever at this. 
Mrs. Chick hastened to the rescue. 

" Your little child will thrive charmingly with 
your sister Jemima, Richards,” said Mrs. Chick; 
and you have only to make an effort — this is a 
world of effort, you know, Richards — to be very 
happy indeed. You have been already measured 
for your mourning, haven’t you, Richards ? ” 

"Ye — yes. Ma’am,” sobbed Polly. 

"And it’ll fit beautifully, I know,” said Mrs. 
Chick, "for the same young person has made me 
many dresses. The very best materials, too! 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


25 


You’ll be so smart that your husband won’t know 
you- will you, sir?” 

" I should know her,” said Toodle, gruffly, 
^'anyhows and anywheres.” 

Toodle was evidently not to be bought over. 

"As to living, Richards, you know,” pursued 
Mrs. Chick, " why, the very best of everything 
will be at your disposal. You ■will order your 
little dinner every day; and, anything you take a 
fancy to, I’m sure will be as readily provided as 
if you were a lady.” 

Notwithstanding this brilliant prospect, poor 
Polly embraced them all round in great distress, 
and finally ran away to avoid any more leave-taking 
between herself and the children. 

A quantity of oranges and half-pence, thrust 
indiscriminately on each young Toodle, checked 
the first violence of their regret, and the family 
were transported to their own home, by means of 
a hackney-coach kept in waiting for that purpose. 


26 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


,'v 


FLORENCE AND RICHARDS BECOME 
ACQUAINTED. 

The funeral of the deceased lady having been 
" performed,” to the entire satisfaction of the under- 
taker, as well as the neighborhood at large, the 
various members of Mr. Dombey’s household sub- 
sided into their several places in the domestic system. 

On Richards, the dawn of her new life seemed 
to break cold and gray. Mr. Dombey’s house was 
a large one, on the shady side of a tall, dark, 
dreadfully genteel street in the region between 
Portland-place and Bryanstone-square. 

It was as blank a house inside as outside. 
When the funeral was over, Mr. Dombey ordered 
the furniture to be covered up — perhaps to pre- 
serve it for the son, with whom his plans were all 
associated — and the rooms to be ungarnished, 
saving such as he retained for himself on the 
ground-floor. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


27 


The apartments which Mr. Dombey reserved 
for his own consisted of a sitting-room, a library, 
which was in fact a dressing-room, and a kind of 
conservatory or little glass breakfast-room beyond, 
commanding a prospect of several trees and gen- 
erally speaking, of a few prowling cats. 

These three rooms opened upon one another. 
In the morning when Mr. Dombey was at his 
breakfast, as well as in the afternoon when he 
came home to dinner, a bell was rung for Richards 
to repair to this glass chamber, and walk to and 
fro with the young charge. 

From the glimpses she caught of Mr. Dombey 
at these times, sitting in the dark distance looking 
out towards the infant from among the dark, 
heavy furniture, Richards began to entertain ideas 
of him in his solitary state as if he were a lone 
prisoner in a cell, or a strange apparition that was 
not to be accosted or understood. 

Little Paul Dombey’s foster-mother had led 
this life herself, and had carried little Paul through 


28 


PAUL UOMBET. 


it for some weeks; and had returned up stairs one 
day from a melancholy saunter through the dreary 
rooms of state, when, as she was sitting in her 
room, the door was slowly and quietly opened, 
and a dark-eyed little girl looked in. 

” It’s Miss Florence come home from her 
aunt’s no doubt,” thought Richards, who had never 
seen the child before. "Hope I see you well. 
Miss.” 

"Is that my brother?” asked the child, pointing 
to the baby. 

" Yes.” answered Richards. " Come and kiss 
him.” 

But the child, instead of advancing looked 
her earnestly in the face, and said, " What have 
you done with my mamma?” 

" Lord bless the little creetur ! ” cried Richards, 
"what a sad question! I done? Yothing, Miss.” 

" What have they done with my mamma ? ” 
inquired the child. 

" I never saw such a melting thing in all 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


29 


my life ! ’’ said Richards, Come nearer here, my 
dear Miss ! Don’t be afraid of me.” 

I am not afraid of yon,” said the child, 
drawing nearer. ^'Bnt I want to know what 
they have done with my mamma ? ” 

My darling,” said Richards, '^yon wear that 
pretty black frock in renrembrance of yonr mamma.” 

can remember my mamma,” returned the 
child, with tears springing to her eyes, ^'in any 
frock.” 

But people pnt on black, to remember people 
when they’re gone.” 

” Where gone ? ” asked the child. 

Come and sit down by me,” said Richards, 
and I’ll tell yon a story.” 

Little Florence laid aside the bonnet she had 
held in her hand until now, and sat do^yn on 
a stool at the nurse’s feet, looking up into her face. 

Once upon a time,” said Richards, there 
was a lady — a very good lady — and her little 
daughter dearly loved her.” 


30 


PAUL UOMBET. 


” A very good lady, and her little daughter 
dearly loved her,” repeated the child. 

"Who, when God thought it was right that 
it should be so, was taken ill and died.” 

The child shuddered. 

"Died, never to be seen again by any one on 
earth, and was buried in the ground where the 
trees grow.” 

" The cold ground ! ” said the child shuddering 
again. 

"No ! the warm ground,” returned Polly, 
seizing her advantage, " where the ugly seeds 
turn into beautiful flowers, and into grass, and 
corn, and I don’t know what all besides — where 
good people turn into bright angels, and fly away 
to Heaven ! ” 

The child, who had drooped her head, raised 
it again, and sat looking at her intently. 

" So ; let me see,” said Polly, not a little flur- 
ried with her desire to comfort the child, her sud- 
deu success, and her very slight confldence in her 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


31 


own powers. ^'So when this lady died, wherever 
they took her, or wherever they put her, she went 
to God ! and she prayed to Him, this lady did,’’ 
said Polly, ^Go teach her little daughter to be 
sure of that in her heart; and to know that she was 
happy there and loved her still; and to hope and 
try — Oh, all her life — to meet her there one 
day, never, never, never to part any more.” 

It was my mamma ! ” exclaimed the child, 
springing up and clasping her round the neck. 

And the child’s heart,” said Polly, drawing 
her close to her side — the little daughter’s heart 
was so full of the truth of this, that even when 
she heard it from a strange nurse that couldn’t 
tell it right, she didn’t feel so lonely — sobbed and 
cried upon her bosom — took kindly to the baby 
lying in her lap — and — there, there, there ! ” said 
Polly, smoothing the child’s curls and dropping 
tears upon them. There, poor dear ! ” 

^'Oh, well. Miss Floy ! And won’t your Pa 
be angry neither ! ” cried a quick voice, at the 


32 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


door, proceeding from a short, brown, womanly 
girl of fourteen, with a little snub nose, and very 
black eyes like jet beads, — "when it was ’tickerly 
given out that you wasn’t to go and worrit the 
nurse.” 

" She don’t worry me,” was the surprised re- 
joinder of Polly, "I’m very fond of children.” 

" Oh ! but begging your pardon, Mrs. Richards, 
that don’t matter, you knoAV, returned the black- 
eyed girl, who was so desperately sharp and biting, 
that she seemed to make one’s eyes water. " I 
may be very fond of perrywinkles, Mrs. Richards, 
hut it don’t follow that I’m to have ’em for tea.” 

" W ell, it don’t matter,” said Polly. 

" Oh, thank’e, Mrs. Richards, don’t it ! ” re- 
turned the sharp girl. " Remembering, however, 
if you’ll be so good, that Miss Floy’s under my 
charge, and Master Paul’s under your’n.” 

" But still we needn’t quarrel,” said Polly. 

" Oh, no, Mrs. Richards,” rejoined Spitfire ; 
" not at all, I don’t wish it, we needn’t stand upon 


PAUL DOMBET. 


33 


that footing, Miss Floy being a permanency, Master 
Paul a temporary.” 

" Miss Florence has just come home, hasn’t 
she ? ” asked Polly. 

"Yes, Mrs. Richards, just come home, and 
here, Miss Floy, before you’ve been in the house 
a quarter of an hour, you go a smearing your wet 
face against the expensive mourning that Mi‘s. 
Richards is a wearing for your Ma ! ” With this 
remonstrance, young Spitfire, whose real name 
was Susan Nipper, detached the child from her 
new friend by a wrench — as if she were a tooth. 
But she seemed to do it, more in the excessively 
sharp exercise of her ofiicial functions, than with 
any deliberate unkindness. 

" She’ll be quite happy, now she has come 
home again,” said Polly, nodding to her with an 
encouraging smile upon her wholesome face, " and 
will be so pleased to see her dear papa to-night.” 

" Lork, Mrs. Richards ! ” cried Miss Nipper, 
taking up her words with a jerk. " Don’t. See 


34 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


her dear papa, indeed ! I should like to see her 
do it ! ” 

"Won’t she then?” asked Polly. 

" Lork, Mrs. Richards, no, her Pa’s a deal too 
wrapped up in somebody else, and before there 
was a somebody else to be wrapped up in she 
never was a favorite, girls are thrown away in 
this house, Mrs. Richards, I assure you.” 

The child looked quickly from one nurse to 
the other, as if she understood and felt what was 
said. 

" You surprise me ! ” cried Polly. " Has n’t 
Mr. Dombey seen her since ” 

"No,” interrupted Susan Nipper. "Not once 
since, and he had n’t hardly set his eyes upon her 
before that for months and months, and I don’t 
think he’d have known her for his own child if 
he had met her in the streets, or would know 
her for his own child if he was to meet her 
in the streets to-morrow, Mrs. Richards.” 

" Pretty dear ! ” said Richards sorrowfully. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


35 


"I wish you good morning, Mrs. Richards; 
Row, Miss Floy, you come along with me, and 
don’t go hanging hack like a naughty, wicked child.” 

In spite of all this, and in spite also of 
some hauling on the i^art of Susan Ripper, tend- 
ing towards the dislocation of her right shoulder, 
little Florence broke away and kissed her new 
friend affectionately. 

" Good-bye ! ” said the child. " God bless you ! 
I shall come to see you again soon, and you’ll 
come to see me. Susan will let us. Won’t you, 
Susan?” 

Spitfire seemed to be in the main a good- 
natured little body. For, being thus appealed to 
with some endearing gestures and caresses, she 
folded her small arms, and shook her head, and 
said doubtfully, 

"It ain’t right of you to ask it. Miss Floy, 
for you know I can’t refuse you, but Mrs. Richards 
and me will see what can be done, if Mrs. 
Richards likes, I may wish, you see, to take a 


36 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


voyage to Chaney, Mrs. Richards, but I may n’t 
know how to leave the London Docks.” 

Richards nodded. 

" This house ain't so exactly ringing with 
merry making,” said Miss Nipper, " that one need 
be lonelier than one must be. Your Chickses 
may draw out my two front double teeth, Mrs. 
Richards, but that’s no reason why I should offer 
’em the whole set.” 

Richards nodded again. 

” So I’m agreeable, I’m sure,” said Miss Nipper, 
" to live friendly, Mrs. Richards, if the means can 
be planned out without going openly against orders. 
But goodness gracious me. Miss Floy, you naughty 
child, come along! ” 

With these words, Susan Nipper made a charge 
at her young ward, and swept her out of the room. 

The child, in her grief and neglect, was so 
gentle, so quiet, and uncomplaining; was possessed 
of so much affection that no one seemed to want, 
and so much sorrowful intelligence that no one 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


37 


seemed to mind or think about the wounding of 
her that Polly’s heart was sore when she was left 
alone again. 

In the one simple meeting that had taken place 
between herself and the motherless little girl, her 
own motherly heart had been touched no less than 
the child’s; and she felt, as the child did, that there 
was something of confidence and interest between 
them from that moment. 

Polly only thought, at this time, on improving 
on her successful peacemaking with Miss Nipper, 
and devising some means of having little Florence 
beside her often. An opportunity happened to 
present itself that veiy night. 

She had been rung down into the glass-room 
as usual, and had walked about and about it a long 
time, with the baby in her arms, when, to her great 
surprise and dismay, Mr. Dombey came out sud- 
denly, and stopped before her. 

" Good evening, Richards.” 

Just the same austere, stiff gentleman, as he 


38 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


had appeared to her on that first day. And such 
a hard-looking gentleman! 

"How is Master Paul, Piehards? ” 

"Quite thriving, sir, and well.” 

" He looks so,” said Mr. Dombey, glancing with 
great interest at the tiny face she uncovered for his 
observation, and yet affecting to be half careless of 
it. " They give you everything you want, I hope ! ” 

" Oh — yes — thank you — sir,” answered she, 
as if doubtfully. 

Mr. Dombey, who had turned away, stopped, 
and turned round again inquiringly. 

" I believe nothing is so good for making 
children lively and cheerful, sir, as seeing other 
childi’en playing about ’em,” observed Polly, taking 
courage. 

" I think I mentioned to you, Richards, when 
you came here,” said Mr. Dombey, with a frown, 
" that I wished you to see as little of your family as 
possible. You can continue to walk, if you please.” 

With that he disappeared into his inner room. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


39 


Polly knew that he had thoroughly misunderstood 
her object, and that she had only fallen into 
disgrace. * 

Next night, she found him walking about the 
conservatory when she came down. As she stopped 
at the door, uncertain whether to go on or return to 
the nursery, he called her in. 

If you really think that sort of society is good 
for the child,’’ he said sharply, as if there had been 
no interval since she proposed it, where’s Miss 
Florence ? ” 

Nothing could be better than Miss Florence, 
sir,” said Polly, eagerly, but I understood from her 
little maid that they were not to — ” 

Mr. Dombey rang the bell, and walked till it 
was answered. 

Tell them always to let Miss Florence be with 
Richards when she chooses, and go out with her, 
and so forth. Tell them to let the children be 
together when Richards wishes it.” 

The iron was now hot, and Richards, striking 


40 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


on it bodily — it was a good cause, and she was bold 
in it, though instinctively afraid of Mr, Dombey — 
requested that Miss Florence be sent down then and 
there, to make friends with her little brother. 

"When little Florence timidly presented herself, 
Mr. Dombey stopped in his pacing up and down and 
looked towards her. Had he looked with greater 
interest and with a loving father’s eye, he might 
have read in her keen glance the impulses and fears 
that made her waver; the passionate desire to run 
clinging to him, crying, as she hid her face in his 
embrace, ” Oh, father, try to love me ! there’s no one 
else! ” the fear of being too bold, and of offending 
him; the pitiable need in which she stood of some 
love and encouragement, and how her heavy child- 
heart was wandering to find some natui’al resting 
place for its sorrow and afiection. 

But he saw nothing of this. He saw her pause at 
the door and look towards him; and he saw no more. 

” Come in,” he said, " come in ; what is the child 
afraid of?” 


PAUL DOMBET. 


41 


She came in, and, after glancing round her for 
a moment with an uncertain air, stood pressing her 
small hands hard together, close within the door. 

” Come here, Florence,” said her father, coldly. 
” Do you know who I am? ” 

" Yes, papa.” 

"Have you nothing to say to me?” 

The tears that stood in her eyes as she raised 
them quickly to his face were frozen by the expres- 
sion it wore. She looked down again, and put out 
her trembling hand. 

Mr. Dombey took it loosely in his own, and 
stood looking down upon her for a moment as if he 
knew as little as the child what to say or do. 

" There ! Be a good girl,” he said, patting her 
on the head, and looking at her with a disturbed and 
doubtful look. " Go to Richards ! Go ! ” 

His little daughter hesitated for another instant 
as though she would have clung about him still, or 
had some lingering hope that he might raise her in 
his arms and kiss her. She looked up in his face 


42 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


once more. He thought how like her expression 
was then to what it had been when she looked round 
at the doctors — that night, — and dropped her hand 
and turned away. 

It was plain that Florence was at a great disad- 
vantage in her father’s presence. It was not only 
a constraint upon the child’s mind, but even upon 
the natural grace and freedom of her actions. "It’s 
hard, indeed,” thought Polly, " if he takes only to 
one little motherless child, when he has another, and 
that a girl, before his eyes.” 

So, Polly kept her eyes before his eyes, as 
long as she could, and managed so well with little 
Paul, as to make it very plain that he was all the 
livelier for his sister’s company. 

When it was time to go up stairs again, she 
would have sent Florence into the inner room to 
say good-night' to her father; but the child was 
timid and drew back; and when she urged her 
again, said, spreading her hands before her eyes, 
" Oh, no, no ! He don’t want me ! ” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


43 


"AVhat is the matter?” asked Mr. Dombey, 
seeing the nurse and the child thus talking 
together. 

" Miss Florence was afraid of interrupting, sir, 
if she came in to say good-night,” said Eichards. 

" It doesn’t matter,” returned Mr. Dombey. 
"You can let her come and go without regarding 
me.” 

The child shrunk back, as she listened, and 
was gone, before her humble friend looked around 
again. 

However, Polly triumphed not a little in the 
success of her scheme, and at once made a full 
disclosure to Spitfire when she was once more safe 
up stairs. 

Miss Nipper received that proof of her confi- 
dence, as well as the prospect of their free association 
for the future, rather coldly. 

" I thought you would have been pleased,” 
said Polly rather regretfully. 

" Oh, yes, Mrs. Richards, I’m very well pleased, 


44 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


thank you,” returned Susan, who had suddenly 
become so very upright that she seemed to have put 
an additional bone in her stays. 

"You don’t show it,” said Polly. 

"Oh! Being only a permanency I couldn’t 
be expected to show it like a temporary,” said 
Susan Nipper. " Temporaries carries it all before 
’em here I find.” 




PAUL DOMBEY. 


45 


SOL GILLS AND WALTER. 

The offices of Dombey and Son were within 
the liberties of the city of London and within 
heai'ing of Bow Bells. 

Near by stood the little shop of Old Sol 
Gills, Ship’s Instrument-maker. 

Here, in skipper-like state, all alone with his 
nephew 'Walter, a boy of fourteen, who looked 
himself quite like a midshipman, lived Solomon 
Gills. 

It is half-past five o’clock, and an autumn 
afternoon, when the reader and Solomon Gills 
become acquainted. Solomon Gills is in the act of 
seeing what time it is by his never-failing 
chronometer. The usual daily clearance has been 
making in the city for an hour or more, and the 
human tide is still rolling westward. 

" The streets have thinned,” as Mr. Gills says, 
” very much.” It threatens to be wet to-night. 


46 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


All the weather-glasses in the shop are in low 
spirits. 

"Where’s Walter, I wonder? ” said Solomon 
Gills after he had carefully put up the chronometer 
again. "Here’s dinner been ready half an hour, 
and no Walter! ” 

Turning round upon his stool behind the 
counter, Mr. Gills looked out among the instruments 
in the window, to see if his nephew might be crossing 
the road. No. He was not among the bobbing 
umbrellas, and he certainly was not the newspaper 
boy in the oilskin cap who was slowly working his 
way along the piece of brass outside, writing his 
name over Mr. Gills’ name with his forefinger. 

"Halloa, uncle Sol!” 

" Halloa, my boy ! ” cried the Instrument- 
maker, turning briskly round. "What! you are 
here, are you ! ” 

A cheerful-looking, merry boy, fresh with 
running home in the rain; fair-faced, bright-eyed, 
and curly-haired. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


47 


"Well, uncle, how have you got on without me 
all day? Is dinner ready? I’m so hungry.” 

" As to getting on,” said Solomon, good- 
naturedly, " it would be odd if I couldn’t get on 
without a young dog like you a great deal better 
than with yoii. As to dinner being ready, it’s been 
ready this half hour, and waiting for you. As to 
being hungry, I am!” 

" Come along then, uncle I ” cried the boy, 
and uncle Sol and his nephew were speedily 
engaged on a fried sole, with a prospect of 
steak to follow. 

" And now,” said the uncle, " let’s hear some- 
thing about the Firm.” 

"Oh! there’s not much to be told about the 
Firm, uncle,” said the boy, plying his knife and fork. 
" It’s a precious dark set of offices, and in the room 
where I sit, there’s a high fender, and an iron safe, 
and some cards about ships that are going to sail, 
and an almanac, and some desks and stools, and an 
ink-bottle, and some books, and some boxes, and a 


48 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


lot of cobwebs, and in one of ’em, just over my 
head, a shrivelled-up blue-bottle, that looks as if it 
had hung there ever so long.” 

"Nothing else? ” said the uncle. 

"No, nothing else, except a coal-scuttle.” 

"No bankers’ books, or check books, or bills, 
or such tokens of wealth rolling in from day to 
day?” said old Sol, looking wistfully at his nephew 
out of the fog that always seemed to hang about 
him. 

" Oh, yes, plenty of that, I suppose,” returned 
his nephew carelessly; " but all that sort of thing’s 
in Mr. Carker’s room, or Mr. Morfin’s, or Mr. 
Dombey’s.” 

"Has Mr. Dombey been there to-day?” inquired 
the uncle. 

" Oh, yes. In and out all day.” 

"He didn’t take any notice of you, I suppose?” 

" Yes, he did. He walked up to my seat — I 
wish he wasn’t so solemn and stiff, uncle — and said, 

' Oh 1 you are the son of Mr. Gills the Ship’s Instru- 


TATIL DOMBEY. 


49 


ment-maker.’ ' Nephew, sir,’ I said. ' I said 
nephew, boy,’ said he. But I could take my oath he 
said sou, uncle.” 

” You’re mistaken, I dare say. It’s no matter.” 

"No, it’s no matter, but he needn’t have been 
so sharp, I thought. There was no harm in it 
though he did say son. Then he told me that you 
had spoken to him about me, and that he had found 
me employment in the House accordingly, and that 
I was expected to be attentive and punctual, and 
then he went away. I thought he didn’t seem to 
like me much.” 

" You mean, I suppose,” observed the Insti’u- 
ment-maker, " that you didn’t seem to like him 
much? ” 

"Well, uncle,” returned the boy, laughing, 
"perhaps so;, I never thought of that.” 

Solomon looked a little graver as he finished 
his dinner, and sat looking at the boy’s bright face 
for sometime in silence. 

But an addition to the little party now made its 


50 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


appearance, in the shape of a gentleman in a wide 
snit of blue, with a hook instead of a hand attached 
to his right wrist, very bushy black eyebrows, and a 
thick stick in his left hand, covered all over (like 
his nose) with knobs. He wore a loose black silk 
handkerchief round his neck, and such a very large 
coarse shirt collar, that it looked like a small 
sail. 

He was evidently the person for whom a 
spare wine-glass had been placed, and evidently knew 
it, for having taken off his rough outer coat, and 
hung it np on a particular peg behind the door, such 
a hard glazed hat as a sympathetic person’s head 
might ache at the sight of, and which left a red rim 
round his own forehead as if he had been wearing a 
tight basin, he brought a chair to where the clean 
glass was, and sat himself down behind it. 

He was usually addressed as Captain, this 
visitor; and had been a pilot, or a skipper, or both 
perhaps; and was a very salt looking man indeed. 

His face, remarkable for a brown solidity, 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


51 


brightened as he shook hands with uncle and 
nephew. 

"Wal’r!” he said, aiTanging his hair with his 
hook, and then pointing it at the Instrument-maker. 
"Look at him! Love! Honor! And Obey! Over- 
haul your catechism till you find that passage, and 
when found turn the leaf down. Success, my 
boy ! ” 

He was so perfectly satisfied both with his 
quotation and his reference to it, that he could not 
help repeating the words again in a low voice, and 
saying he had forgotten ’em these forty year. 




52 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


THE NURSES MAKE A CALL WITH 
FLORENCE AND LITTLE PAUL. 

Meanwhile, the maternal heart of Mrs. Richards 
turned towards her own babies. 

” I don’t know what I wouldn’t give,” said 
Polly, "to see the poor little dears.” 

" Why, then, I tell you what, Mrs. Richards,” 
retorted Ripper, who had been admitted into her 
confidence, " see them and make your mind easy.” 

" Mr. Dombey wouldn’t like it,” said Polly. 

" Oh wouldn’t he, Mrs. Richards ! ” retorted 
Ripper, " he’d like it very much, I think, when he 
was asked.” 

" You wouldn’t ask him, I suppose, at all ? ” 
said Polly. 

" Ro, Mrs. Richards, quite contrary,” returned 
Susan, " and the inspector Chick, not intending to 
be on duty to-morrow, as I heard ’em say, me 
and Miss Floy will go along with you to-morrow 


PAUL DOMBET. 


53 


moi’iiing, and welcome, Mrs. Richards, if you like, 
for we may as well walk there, as up and down 
a street, and better too.” 

Polly rejected the idea pretty stoutly at first; 
but little by little she began to entertain it, as she 
entertained more and more distinctly the forbidden 
pictures of her children, and her own home. At 
length, arguing that there could be no great harm 
in calling for a moment at the door, she yielded 
to the ISTipper proposition. 

The matter being settled thus, little Paul 
began to cry most piteously, as if he had a fore- 
boding that no good would come of it. 

"What’s the matter with the child? ” asked Susan. 

" He’s cold, I think,” said Polly, walking 
with him to and fro, and hushing him. 

It was a bleak autumnal afternoon indeed ; 
and as she walked, and hushed, and, glancing 
through the dreary windows, pressed the little 
fellow closer to her breast the withered leaves 
came showering down. 


54 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


But next morning, almost as soon as Mr. 
Dombey’s stately back was turned, and that gentle- 
man was pursuing his daily road towards the city, 
his unconscious son was on his way to Stagg’s 
Gardens. 

To this unhallowed spot, the very name of 
which had hitherto been carefully concealed from 
Mr. Dombey by his sister, was little Paul now 
borne by Fate and Richards. 

" That’s my house, Susan,” said Polly, pointing 
it out. 

"Is it indeed, Mrs. Richards?” said Susan 
condescendingly. 

" And there’s my sister Jemima at the door, I 
do declare ! ” cried Polly, " with my own sweet 
precious baby in her arms ! ” 

The sight added such an extensive pair of wings 
to Polly’s impatience, that she set off down the 
Gardens at a run, and, bouncing on Jemima, 
changed babies with her in a twinkling. 

To the unutterable astonishment of that young 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


55 


damsel, the heir of the Dombey’s seemed to have 
fallen upon her from the clouds. 

Why, Polly cried Jemima. ^Wou! what a 
turn you have given me; who’d have thought it! 
come along in, Polly! How well you do look, to be 
sure! The children will go half wild to see you, 
Polly — that they will.^’ 

That they did, if one might judge from the noise 
they made, and the way in which they dashed at 
Polly and dragged her to a low chair in the 
chimney-corner, where her own honest apple-face 
became immediately the centre of a bunch of smaller 
pippins, all laying there rosy cheeks close to it, and 
all evidently the growth of the same tree. 

As to Polly, she was full as noisy and vehement 
as the children; and it was not until she was quite 
out of breath, and her hair was hanging all around 
her flushed face, and her new dress was very much 
crushed, that any pause took place. 

Even then the smallest Toodle but one 
remained in her lap, holding on tight with both arms 


56 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


around her neck; while the smallest Toodle but two 
mounted on the back of a chair, and made desperate 
efforts to kiss her round the corner. 

" Look ! There’s a pretty little lady come to 
see you,” said Polly; "and see how quiet she is! 
what a beautiful little lady, ain’t she?” 

This reference to Florence, who had been 
standing near Ihe door, directed the attention of the 
children towards her; and had likewise the happy 
effect of leading to the recognition of Miss Nipper, 
who was beginning to feel that she had been already 
slighted. 

" Oh do come in and sit down a minute, Susan, 
please,” said Polly. " This is my sister Jemima, this 
is. Jemima, I don’t know what 1 should ever do 
with myself, if it wasn’t for Susan Nipper; 1 
shouldn’t be here now but for her.” 

" Oh, do sit down, Miss Nipper, if you please,” 
quoth J emima. 

Susan took the extreme corner of a chair, with a 
stately air. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


57 


” I never was so glad to see anybody in all my 
life; no really I never was, Miss Nipper,” said 
Jemima. 

Susan relaxing, took a little more of the chair, 
and smiled graciously. 

” Do untie your bonnet strings and make your- 
self at home. Miss Nipper, please,” entreated 
Jemima. "I’m afraid its a poorer place than you’re 
used to; but you’ll make allowances, I’m sure.” 

The black-eyed one was so softened by this 
behavior, that she caught up little Miss Toodle who 
was running past, and took her to Banbury Cross 
immediately. 

"And where’s father, Jemima dear?” asked 
Polly. 

"There! ” said Jemima. " What a pity! father 
took his dinner with him this morning, and isn’t 
coming home till night. But he’s always talking of 
you, Polly, and telling the children about you; and 
is the peaceablest, patientest, best-temperedest soul 
in the world, as he always was and always will be ! ” 


58 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


” Thankee, Jemima ! ” cried the simple Polly, 
delighted by the speech. 

" Oh, you needn’t thank me, Polly,” said her 
sister, giving her a sounding kiss upon the cheek, 
and then dancing little Paul cheerfully. " I say the 
same of you sometimes and think it too.” 

Then the sisters talked hopefully about family 
matters, while the black-eyed took sharp note of the 
furniture, the Dutch clock, the cupboard, the castle 
on the mantlepiece, with read and green windows in 
it, and a pair of small black velvet kittens on the 
shelf. 

Little Florence herself was not behind in 
improving the occasion; for being conducted forth 
by the young Toodles to inspect some toadstools 
and other curiosities of the gardens, she entered with 
them, heart and soul, on the formation of a little 
bridge across a small green pool that had collected 
in a corner. She was still busily engaged in that 
labor, when sought and found by Susan 

Susan delivered a moral address to her while 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


59 


washing her face and hands; and predicted that she 
would bring the gray hairs of her family in general 
with sorrow to the grave. 

And now the nurses with their charges were 
setting out homeward again. 

But at that moment ^ a thundering alarm of 
Mad Bull!’’ was raised. 

With a wdld confusion before her, of people 
running up and down, and shouting, and Avheels 
running OA^er them, and boys fighting, and mad bulls 
coming up, and the nurse in the midst of all these 
dangers being torn to j^ieces, Florence screamed and 
ran. She ran till she Avas exhausted, urging Susan 
to do the same; and then, stopping and AA^ringing her 
hands, as she remembered they had left the other 
nurse behind, found, Avith a sensation of terror not to 
be described, that she Avas quite alone. 

Susan! Susan!” cried Florence, clapping her 
hands in the A^ery ecstasy of her alarm. ^'Oh, Avhere 
are they ! Avhere are they ! ” 

'AVhere are they? ” said an old Avoman, coming 


60 


PAUL DOMBKY. 


hobbling across as fast as she could from the 
opposite side of the way. ” Why did you run away 
from ’em ? ” 

" I was frightened,” answered Florence. ” I 
didn’t know what I did. I thought they were with 
me. Where are they ? ” 

The old woman took her by the wrist, and said, 
"I’ll show you.” 

She was a very ugly old woman, with red rims 
round her eyes, and a mouth that mumbled and 
chattered of itself when she was not speaking. She 
seemed to have followed Florence some little way at 
all events, for she had lost her breath, and this made 
her uglier still, as she stood trying to regain it, 
working her shrivelled yellow face and throat into 
all sorts of contortions. 

Florence was afraid of her, and looked, 
hesitating, up the street, of which she had almost 
reached the bottom. It was a solitary place — more 
a back road than a street — and there was no one in 
it but herself and the old woman. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


61 


” You needn’t be fi-ightened now,” said the old 
woman, still holding her tight. " Come along with 
m?.” 

"I — I don’t know yon. What’s yonr name?” 
asked Florence. 

” Mrs. Brown,” said the old woman. " Good 
Mrs. Brown.” 

"Are they near here?” asked Florence, 
heginning to be led away. 

"Susan ain’t far off,” said Good Mrs. Brown; 
" and the others are close to her.” 

"Is anybody hurt?” cried Florence. 

"Not a bit of it,” said Good Mrs. Brown. 

The child shed tears of delight on hearing this 
and went with the old woman willingly, though she 
could not help glancing at her face as they went 
along, and wondering whether Bad Mrs. Brown, if 
there was such a person, was at all like her. 

They had not gone far, but had gone by some 
very uncomfortable places, when the old woman 
turned down a dirty lane, where the mud lay in deep 


62 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


black ruts in the middle of the I’oad. She stopped 
before a shabby little house, as closely shut up as a 
house that is full of cracks and crevices could be. 

Opening the door with a key she took out of 
her bonnet, she pushed the child before her into 
a back room, where there was a great heap of 
rags of different colors lying on the floor; a heap 
of hones, and a heap of sifted dust or cinders; but 
there was no furniture at all, and the walls and 
ceiling were quite black. 

The child became so terrified that she was 
stricken speechless, and looked as though about to 
swoon. 

"I^ow don’t be a young mule,” said Gfood 
Mrs. Brown, reviving her with a shake. ” I’m not 
a going to hurt you. Sit upon the rags.” 

Florence obeyed her, holding out her folded 
hands, in mute supplication. 

" I’m not a going to keep you, even, above 
an hour,” said Mrs. Brown. " D’ye understand 
what I say ? ” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


63 


The child answered with great difficulty, "Yes.” 

" Then,” said Good Mrs. Brown, taking her 
own seat on the bones, "don’t vex me. If yon 
don’t, I tell yon I won’t hurt yon. But if yon do. 
I’ll kill you. I could have yon killed at any time — 
even if yon was in your own bed at home.” 

" Yow let’s know who you are, and what yon 
are, and all about it,” said Good Mrs. Brown. 

Trembling, Florence told her little history, or 
what she knew of it. Mrs. Brown listened atten- 
tively until she had finished. 

" So your name’s Dombey, eh,” said Mrs. Brown. 

" Yes ma’am.” 

" I w'ant that pretty frock, Miss Dombey,” said 
Good Mrs. Brown, " and that little bonnet, and a 
petticoat or two. Come! Take ’em off.” 

Florence obeyed as fast as her trembling hands 
would allow, keeping all the while a frightened eye 
on Mrs. Brown. Mrs. Brown examined them at 
leisure, and seemed tolerably well satisfied with 
their quality and value. 


64 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


" Humph ! ” she said, running her eyes over the 
child’s slight figure. " I don’t see anything else — 
except the shoes. I must have the shoes, Miss 
Dombey.” 

Poor little Florence took them off. The old 
woman then produced some wretched old clothes 
from the bottom of a heap of rags, which she turned 
over for that purpose, together with a girl’s cloak, 
quite worn out and very old, and the crushed 
remains of a bonnet that had probably been picked 
up from some ditch. 

In this dainty raiment, she instructed Florence 
to dress herself. 



PAUL DOMBEY. 


65 


FLORENCE’S ESCAPE. 

At length hurrying forth, Mrs. Brown led 
the child out thi’ough a number of narrow 
sti*eets and lanes and alleys, which emerged, after 
a long time, upon a stable-yard, with a gateway 
at the end. 

Pointing out this gateway, and informing 
Florence that when the clocks struck three she was 
to go to the left, Mrs. Brown told her she knew what 
to do, and bade her go and do it; remembering that 
she was watched. 

With a lighter heart, but still so afraid, Florence 
felt herself released, and tripped off to the corner. 
When she reached it, she looked back and saw the 
head of the Good Mrs. Brown peeping out of a low 
wooden passage; likewise the fist of Good Mrs. 
BroAvn shaking towards her. At last the steeples 
rang ont three o’clock, and off she hurried as fast as 
she could in her slipshod shoes. 


66 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


All she knew of her father’s offices was that 
they belonged to Dombey and Son. So she could 
only ask the way to Dombey and Son’s in the city; 
and as she generally made the inquiry of children, 
she got very little satisfaction indeed. 

Tired of walking, pushed about, stunned by the 
noise and confusion, anxious for her brother and the 
nurses, terrified by what she had undergone — 
perplexed and frightened alike by what had passed, 
and what was passing, and what was yet before her 
— Florence went upon her weary way with tearful 
eyes, and once or twice could not help stopping to 
ease her bursting heart by crying bittei’ly. But few 
people noticed her at these times in the garb she 
wore. 

It was full two hours later in the afternoon than 
when she had started on this strange adventure, 
when, she j)eeped into a kind of wharf or landing- 
place upon the rivmr side, where there were a great 
many packages, casks, and boxes strewn about, a 
large pair of wooden scales, and a little wooden 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


67 


house on wheels, outside of which a stout man stood 
whistling, with his pen behind his ear, and his hands 
in his pockets, as if the day’s work was nearly 
done. 

"j^ow, then! ” said this man happening to turn 
round. " We haven’t got anything for you, little 
girl; be otf!” 

"If you please, is this the city?” asked the 
trembling daughter of the Dombey’s 

"All! it’s the city. You know that well 
enough, I dare say. Be off! we haven’t got any- 
thing for you.” 

"I don’t want anything, thank you,” was the 
timid answer, " except to know the way to Dombey 
and Son’s.” 

Tbe man who had been strolling carelessly 
towards her, seemed surprised by this reply, and, 
looking attentively in her face, rejoined, 

"Why, what can you want with Dombey and 
Son’s ? ” 

" To know the way there, if you please.” 


68 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


The man looked at her yet more curiously. 

"Joe! ” he called to another man. 

" Joe it is ! ” said Joe. 

" Where’s that young spark of Dombey’s who’s 
been watching the shipment of them goods?’’ 

" Just gone, by the t’ other gate,’’ said Joe. 

" Call him back a minute.’’ 

Joe ran up an archway, bawling as he went, 
and very soon returned with a blithe-looking boy. 

"You’re Dombey’s boy, ain’t you?’’ said the 
first man. 

" I’m in Dombey’s House, Mr. Clark,’’ returned 
the boy. 

" Look’ye here, then,’’ said Mr. Clark, pointing 
to Florence. 

Obedient to the indication of Mr. Clai’k’s 
hand, the boy approached towards Florence, won- 
dering as well he might, what he had to do with 
her. But she, who had heard Avhat passed, and 
who, besides the relief of so suddenly considering 
herself safe at her journey’s end, felt re-assured 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


69 


beyond all measure by his lively youthful face 
and manner, ran eagerly up to him, leaving one 
of the slipshod shoes upon the ground and caught 
his hand in both of hers. 

I am lost, if you Florence, 

running towards the boy. 

Lost ! ’’ cried the boy. 

” Yes, I Avas lost this morning, a long Avay from 
here — and I have had my clothes taken aivay since 
— and I am not dressed in my own noAV — and my 
name is Florence Dombey, my little brother’s only 
sister — and, oh dear, dear, take care of me, if yon 
please! ” sobbed Florence, bursting into tears. 

At the same time her miserable bonnet falling 
off, her hair came tumbling down about her face, 
moving to speechless admiration, young Walter, 
nephew of Solomon Gills. 

Mr. Clark stood rapt in amazement, obserAung 
under his breath, I never saw such a start on 
this wharf before.” 

AValter picked np the shoe, and put it on the 


70 


1\\UL DOMBEY. 


little foot, as the Prince in the story might have 
fitted Cinderella’s slipper on. 

” Don’t cry, Miss Doinbey,” said AV alter. 
"What a wonderful thing for me that I am here. 
You are as safe now as if you were guarded by a 
whole boat’s crew of picked men from a man-of-war. 
Oh, don’t- cry.” 

" I wont cry any more,” said Florence. " I am 
only crying for joy.” 

Crying for joy! thought Walter. "Come 
along, Miss Dombey. There’s the other shoe off 
now! Take mine, Miss Dombey.” 

" Yo, no, no! ” said Florence, (Jiecking him in 
the act of pulling off his own. " These do better. 
These do very well.” 

"Why, to be sure,” said Walter, glancing at 
her foot, " mine are a mile too large. What am I 
thinking about! You never could walk in mine! 
Come along. Miss Dombey. Let me see the villian 
who will dare molest you now.” 

" Have we far to go? ” asked Florence, at last, 
lifting her eyes to her companion’s face. 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


71 


"Ah! by the bye,” said "Walter, stopping, "let 
me see; where are we? Oh, I know, but the offices 
are shut np now. Miss Dombey. There’s nobody 
there. Mr. Dombey has gone home long ago. I 
suppose we must go home too — or, stay. Suppose 
I take you to my uncle’s where I live — its veiy 
near here — and go to your house in a coach to tell 
them you are safe, and bring you back some clothes. 
Won’t that be best?” 

"I think so,” answered Florence. 

They were still in full convesation about it when 
they arrived at the Instrument-maker’s door.” 

" Halloa, uncle Sol ! ” cried W alter, bursting 
into the shop, out of breath, from that time forth, for 
the rest of the evening. " Here’s a wonderful 
adventure! Here’s Mr. Doinbey’s daughter lost in 
the streets, and robbed of her clothes by an old 
witch of a woman — found by me — brought home 
to our parlor to rest — look here ! ” 

"Good Heaven! ” said uncle Sol, starting back. 


" It can’t be ! W ell I — ” 


72 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


"]N^o, nor anybody else,” said AValter. "Nobody 
would, nobody could, yon know. Here! just help 
me lift the little sofa near the fire, will you, uncle 
Sol — take care of the plates — cut some dinner for 
her, will yon, uncle — throw those shoes under the 
grate. Miss Florence — put your feet on the fender 
to diy — how damp they are — here’s an adventure, 
uncle, eh ? ” 

Solomon Grills patted Florence’s head, pressed 
her to eat, pressed her to drink, rubbed the soles of 
her feet with his pocket handkerchief heated at the 
fire. 

"Here, wait a minute, uncle,” said Waite)-, 
catching up a candle, " till I run up stairs, and get 
another jacket on, and then I’ll he off. I say, uncle, 
isn’t this an adventure? ” 

" My dear boy,” said Solomon, " it’s the most 
extraordinary — ” 

"No, but do, uncle, please — do. Miss Florence . 
— dinner, you know, uncle.” 

" Yes, yes, yes,” cried Solomon, cutting instantly 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


73 


into a leg of mutton. take care of her, Wally! 

I understand. Pretty dear! Famished, of course. 
You go and get ready. Lord bless me!’’ 

Walter was not very long in dressing, but, in 
the meantime Florence, overcome by fatigue, had 
sunk into a doze before the fire. The short interval 
of quiet, though only a few minutes in duration, 
enabled Solomon Gills so far to collect his wits as to 
make some little aiTangements for her comfort, and 
to darken the room, and to screen her from the 
blaze. Thus, when the boy returned, she was 
sleeping peacefully. 

That’s capital ! ” he whispered, giving Solomon 
a hug. 

Yow Pm off. Pll just take a crust of bread 
with me, for I’m very hungry — and — don’t wake 
her, uncle Sol.” 

Yo, no,” said Solomon. Pretty child.” 

^'Pretty indeed!” cried Walter. 'Y never saw 
such a face, uncle Sol. Yow I’m off.” 

That’s right,” said Solomon greatly relieved. 


74 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


"I say, uncle Sol,” cried Walter, putting his 
face in at the door. 

" Here he is again,” said Solomon. 

” How does she look now? ” 

” Quite happy,” said Solomon. 

” That’s famous ! now I’m off.” 

" I hope you are,” said Solomon to himself. 

And this time he really was; and Solomon Gills, 
with no appetite for dinner, sat on the opposite side 
of the fire, watching Florence in her slumber. 

In the meantime, Walter proceeded towards Mr. 
Dombey’s house at a pace seldom achieved by a 
hack horse from the stand; and yet with his head 
out of the window every two or three minutes 
hurrying the driver. 

Arriving at his journey’s end, he leaped out, 
and breathlessly announcing his errand to the 
servant, followed him straight into the library, where 
Mr. Dombey, his sister, Richards and I^ipper, were 
all congregated together. 

"Oh! I beg your pai’don, sir,” said Walter 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


75 


rushing up to him, but I’m happy to says it’s all 
right, sir. Miss Dombey’s found! ” 

The boy, with his open face, and flowing hair, 
and sparkling eyes, was wonderfully opposed to Mr. 
Dombey, as he sat confronting him in his library 
chair. 

told you, Louisa, that she would certainly 
be found,” said Mr. Dombey, looking slightly ov^er 
his shoulder at Miss Chick. Let the servants know 
that no further steps are necessary. This boy who 
brings the information is young Gay, from the office. 
How was my daughter found, sir? I know she was 
lost.” Here he looked majestically at Richards. 
^’^How was she found? Who found her?” 

Why, I believe I found Miss Dombey, sir,” 
said Walter, modestly; ''at least I don’t know that,, 
I can claim the merit of having exactly found her, 
sir, but I — ” 

" What do you mean, sir,” interrupted Mr. 
Dombey, " by not having exactly found my daughter, 
and by having found her? Be plain, if you please.” 


76 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


It was quite out of Walter’s power to be plain; 
but he explained as Avell as ho could, in his breath- 
less state, and stated why he had come alone. 

"You hear this, girl?” said Mr. Dombey, 
sternly to the black-eyed. " Take what is necessary 
and return immediately with this young man to 
fetch Miss Florence home. Gray, you will be 
rewarded to-morrow.” 

"Oh! thank you, sir,” said Walter. "You are 
very kind. I’m sure I was not thinking of any 
reward, sir.” 

" You are a boy,” said Mr. Dombey, suddenly, 
and almost fiercely, " and what you think of is of 
little consequence. You have done well, sir. Don’t 
undo it.” 

Mr. Dombey’s glance followed Walter Gay 
with sharp disfavor as he left the room; and it may 
be that his mind’s eye followed him with no greater 
relish as he rode back to his uncle’s with Miss Susan 
Nipper. 

There they found that Florence, much refreshed 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


77 


by sleep, had dined, and greatly improved the 
acquaintance of Solomon Gills, with whom she was 
on terms of perfect confidence and ease. 

The black-eyed cried so much that she might 
now be called the red-eyed, caught Florence in her 
aiins without a word of reproach. Then converting 
the parlor into a private dressing room, she dressed 
her, with great care, in proper clothes and presently 
led her forth, more like a Dombey. 

" Good-night ! ” said Florence, running up to 
Solomon. "You have heeu very good to me.” 

Old Sol was quite delighted, and kissed her like 
her grandfather. 

"Good-night, Walter! Good-bye! ” said 
Florence. 

" Good-bye,” said W alter, giving both his 
hands. 

" I’ll never forget you,” pursued Florence. 
"No, indeed I never will. Good-bye Walter.” 

"Where’s Walter.” "Good-night, Walter.” 

” " Shake hands once more. 


" Good-bye, W alter.' 


78 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


Walter.” This was still Florence’s cry, after she 
was shut up with her little maid in the coach. 

In good time, Mi’. Dombey’s mansion was 
gained again, and again there was a noise of tongues 
in the library. And, too, the eoach was ordered to 
wait — " for Mrs. Richards,” one of Susan’s fellow- 
servants whispered, as she passed with Florence. 

The entrance of the lost child made a slight 
sensation, but not much. Mr. Dombey, who had 
never found her, kissed her once upon the forehead, 
and cautioned her not to run away again, or wander 
anywhere with treacherous servants. Mrs. Chick 
stopped her crying and received her Avith a welcome 
something short of the reception due to none but 
perfect Dombeys. Richards, the culju’it Richards, 
alone poured out her heart in broken words of 
welcome, and bowed herself over the liitle wandering 
head as if she really loA^ed it. 

” You leave this house, Richards, for taking my 
son — my son!” said Mr. Dombey, emphatically 
repeating those two words, "into haunts and into 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


79 


society which are not to be thought of without a 
shudder. As to the accident which befell Miss 
Florence this morning, I regard that as, in one great 
sense, a happy eircumstance; inasmuch as, but for 
that I never could have known — and from your 
own lips, too — of what you had been guilty. I 
think, Louisa, the other nurse, the young person,” — 
here Miss Nipper sobbed aloud — "being so much 
youngei’, and influenced by Paul’s nurse, may 
remain. ” Have the goodness to direct that this 
woman’s coach be paid to — Mr. Dombey stopped 
and winced — " to Stagg’s Gardens.” 

Polly moved towards the door, with Florence 
holding to her dress, and crying to her in the most 
pathetic manner not to go away. It was a dagger 
in the haughty father’s heart, an arrow in his brain, 
to see the flesh and blood he could not disown cling 
to this stranger. Not that he cared to whom his 
daughter turned, or from whom turned away. The 
swift sharp agony struck through him, as he thought 
of what his son might do. 


80 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


His son cried lustily that night, at all events. 
Sooth to say, poor Paul had better reason for his 
tears than sons of that age often have, for he had 
lost his second mother — his first, so far as he knew 
— by a stroke as sudden as that natural affliction 
Avhich darkened the beginning of his life. At the 
same blow, his sister, too, who cried herself to sleep 
so mournfully, had lost as good and true a friend. 



PAUL UOMBEY. 


B1 


LITTLE PAUL GROWS SO OLD-FASHIONED. 

Beneath the watchful and attentive eyes of 
Time, Paul passed from babyhood to childhood, and 
became a talking, walking, wondering Dombey. 

Yet all vigilance and care could not make Paul 
a thriving boy. Yaturally delicate, perhaps he pined 
and wasted after the dismissal of his nurse, and, for 
a long time, seemed but to aw^ait his opportunity of 
gliding through their hands and seeking his lost 
mother. 

Mrs. AVickam, who, shortly after the dismissal 
of Richards had been engaged as PauPs nurse, was 
a meek woman of fair complexion, with her eye- 
brows always elevated, and her head always 
drooping — who was always ready to pity herself, or 
to be pitied, or to pity anybody else. 

It is hardly necessary to observe, that no touch 
of this quality ever reached the magnificent knowl- 
edge of Mr. Dombey. It would have been remark- 


82 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


able, indeed, if any had, when no one in the house — 
not even Mrs. Chick — dared ever whisper to him 
that there had, on any one occasion, been the least 
reason for uneasiness in reference to little Paul. 

Mr. Dombey's young child was, from the 
beginning, distinctly important to him as a part of 
his own greatness, or of the greatness of Domhey 
and Son. Still he loved his son with all the love he 
had. 

If there %oere a warm place in his frosty heart, 
his son occupied it; if its very hard surface could 
receive the impression of any image, the image of 
that son was there, though not so much as an infant, 
or as a boy, but as a grown man — the ” Son ” of the 
Firm. 

Thus Paul grew to be nearly five years old. 
He was a pretty little fellow; though there was 
something wan and wistful in his small face, that 
gave occasion to many sad shakes of Mrs Wickam’s 
head, and many long-drawn sighs of Mrs. Wickam’s 
breath. He was childish and sjjortive enough at 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


83 


times, and not of a sullen disposition; but he had a 
strange, old-fashioned, thoughtful way, at other 
times, of sitting brooding in his little arm-chair, 
when he looked (and talked) like one of those 
terrible little Beings in the Fairy tales, who at a 
hundred and fifty or two hundred years of age, 
represent the children for whom they have been 
exchanged. 

He would frequently be stricken with this mood 
up stairs in the nursery ; and would sometimes lapse 
into it suddenly, exclaiming that he was tired, even 
while playing with Florence. But at no time did he 
fall into it so surely as when, his little chair being 
carried down into his father’s room, he sat there 
with him after dinner by the fire. They were the 
strangest pair at such a time that ever firelight shone 
upon. 

Mr. Dombey, so erect and solemn, gazing at the 
blaze; his little image, with an old, old face, peering 
into the red fire with the fixed and rapt attention of 
a sage. Mr. Dombey thinking out worldly schemes 


84 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


and plans: the little image thinking out Heaven 
knows what wild fancies and half-formed thoughts. 
The two, so very much alike, and yet so monstrously 
contrasted. 

On one of these occasions, when they had both 
been perfectly quiet for a long time, and Mi‘. 
Dombey only knew that the child was awake by 
occasionally glancing at his eye, where the bright 
fire was sparkling like a jewel, little Paul broke 
silence thus — 

"Papa, what’s money?” 

The abrupt question had such immediate 
reference to the subject of Mr. Dombey’s thoughts, 
that Mr. Dombey was quite disconcerted. 

"What is money, Paul?” he answered. 
"Money?” 

" Yes,” said the child, laying his hands upon 
the elbows of his little chair, and turning the old 
face up towards Mr. Dombey’s; "what is money?” 

Mr. Dombey was in a difficulty. He would 
have liked to give him some business-like explana- 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


85 


tion involving rates of exchange, value of precious 
metals in the market, and so forth; but looking 
down at the little chairj and seeing what a long way 
down it was, he answered, '' Gold, and silver, and 
copper. You know what they are?’’ 

Oh, yes, I know what they are, said Paul.” 
don’t mean that, papa. I mean, what’s money 
after all?” 

Heaven and earth, how old his face was as he 
turned it up again towards his father’s! 

AYhat’s money after all?” said Mr. Dombey, 
backing his chair a little, that he might the better 
gaze in sheer amazement at the child that made such 
a strange inquiry. 

I mean, papa, what can it do? ” returned Paul, 
folding his arms, and looking at the fire, and up at 
him, and at the fire, and up at him again. 

Mr. Dombey drew his chair back to its former 
place, and patted him on the head. You’ll know 
better by-and-bye, my man,” he said. Money, 
Paul, can do anything. He took hold of the little 


86 


PAUL DOMPd^y 


hand, and beat it softly against one of his own as he 
said so. 

But Paul got his hand free as soon as he could; 
and rubbing it gently to and fro on the elbow of his 
chair and looking at the fire again, as though the 
fire had been his adviser and prompter — repeated, 
after a short pause. 

Anything, papa? 

Yes, anything — almost.’’ said Mr. Dombey 

Anything means everything, don’t it papa?” 

It includes it — yes,” said Mr. Dombey. 

Why didn’t money save me my mamma?” 
returned the child. 'Mt isn’t cruel, is it?” 

Cruel ! ” said Mr. Dombey, settling his neck- 
cloth, and seeming to resent the idea. Yo; a good 
thing can’t be cruel.” 

If it is a good thing and can do anything,” 
said the little fellow, thoughtfully, as he looked back 
at the fire, I wonder why it didn’t save me my 
mamma. It can’t make me strong and quite well, 
either, papa, can it?” 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


87 


Wliy, you are strong and quite well/^ returned 
Mr. Dombey. Are you not? ’’ 

Oh! the age of that face that was turned up 
again, with an expression, half of sadness, half of 
shyness, on it! 

You are as strong and well as such little 
people usually are. Eh?’’ said Mr. Dombey. 

Florence is older than I am, but I’m not as 
strong and well as Florence, I know,” returned the 
child* and I believe that when Florence was as 
little as me, she could play a great deal longer at a 
time without tiring herself. I am so tired some- 
times,” said little Paul, warming his hands, and 
looking in between the bars of the grate, and I 
ache so that I don’t know what to do.” 

'^Ay! but that’s at night,” said Mr. Dombey, 
drawing his own chair closer to his son’s, and laying 
his hand gently on his back; 'Mittle people should 
be tired at night, for then they sleep well.” 

Oh, it’s not at night, papa,” returned the 
child; ” it’s in the day, and I lie down in Florence’s 


88 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


lap, and she sings to me. At night, I dream ahout 
such cu-ri-oiis things ! ” 

And he went on, warming his hands again, and 
thinking aboirt them, like an old man, or a young 
goblin. 

Mr. Dombey was so astonished, and so uncom- 
fortable, and so perfectly at a loss what to say that 
he could only sit looking at his son by the light of 
the fire, until the nurse appeared to summon him to 
bed. 

” I want Florence to come for me,” said Paul. 

" Wont you come with your jjoor Nurse 
Wickam, Master Paul?” inquired the nurse with 
great pathos. 

"No, I wont,” replied Paul, composing himself 
in his armchair again, like the master of the house. 

Invoking a blessing upon his innocence, Mrs. 
Wickam withdrew, and presently Florence appeared 
in her stead. The child immediately started up 
with sudden readiness, and raised towards his father, 
in bidding him good-night, a countenance so much 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


89 


brighter, so much younger, and so much more child- 
like altogether, that Mr. Dombey, was quite amazed 
at the change. 

After they left the room together, he thought 
he heard a soft voice singing ; and remembering that 
Paul had said his sister sung to him, he had the 
curiosity to open the door and listen, and look after 
them. She was toiling up the great, wide, vacant 
staircase, with him in her arms; his head was lying 
on her shoulder, and one of his arms thrown round 
her neck. So they went, toiling up ; she singing all 
the way, and Paul sometimes singing with her. 

Mr. Dombey looked after them until they 
reached the top of the staircase — not without 
halting to rest by the way — and passed out of his 
sight; and there he still stood gazing upward, until 
the dull rays of the moon, glimmering through the 
dim skylight, sent him back to his own room. 

Mrs. Chick was summoned in council at dinner 
next day; and when the cloth was removed, Mr. 
Dombey demanded that he be told whether there 


90 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


was anything the matter with Paul, and what Mr. 
Pilkins said about him. 

" For the child is hardly,” said Mr. Dombey, " as 
stout as I could wish.” 

” As usual, my dear Paul,” returned Mrs. Chick, 
” you have hit the point at once. Our darling is not 
altogether as stout as we could wish. The fact is, 
that his mind is too much for him. His soul is a 
great deal too large for his frame. I am sure the 
way in which that dear child talks! ” said Mrs. Chick 
shaking her head, ” no one would believe.” 

" Mr. Pilkins saw Paul this morning, I 
believe?” said Mr. Dombey. 

"Yes he did,” returned his sister. "Mr. Pilkins 
has seen him for some days j)ast, and a very clever 
man I believe him to be. He says it is nothing to 
speak of; which I can confirm, if that is any conso- 
lation; but he recommended, to-day, sea-air. Very 
wisely, Paul, I feel convinced.” 

" Sea-air,” repeated Mr. Dombey, looking at his 


sister. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


91 


'' There is nothing to be made uneasy by in 
that,’’ said Mrs. Chick. My George and Frederick 
were both ordered sea-air, when they were about his 
age ; and I have been ordered it myself a great many 
times. I must say I think, that a short absence from 
this house, the air of Brighton, and the bodily and 
mental training of a person like Mrs. Pipchin, for 
instance — ” 

'^lYho is Mrs. Pipchin, Louisa?” asked Mr. 
Dombey. 

'^Mrs. Pipchin, my dear Paul,” returned his 
sister, is an elderly lady, who has for some time 
devoted her mind, with the greatest success, to the 
study and treatment of infants. I believe that Mrs. 
Pipchin’s management of children is quite aston- 
ishing. I have heard it commended in private 
circles ever since I was — dear me — how high ! ” 
Mrs. Chick’s eye wandered round the book-case near 
the bust of Mr. Pitt, which was about ten feet from 
the ground. 

Supposing we should decide, on to-morrow’s 


92 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


inquiries, to send Paul down to Brighton to this 
lady, who would »go with him? ” inquired Mr. 
Dombey, after some reflection. 

" I don't think you could send the child any- 
where at present without Florence, my dear Paul ” 
returned his sister, hesitating. ” He’s very young, 
you know, and has his fancies.” 

Mr. Dombey tuimed his head away, and going 
slowly to the book-case, and unlocking it, brought 
back a book to read. 

"Anybody else, Louisa?” he said, without 
looking up, and turning over the leaves. 

" Wickam, of coui'se. Wickam would be quite 
sufficient, I should say,” I’eturned his sister. "Paul, 
being in such hands as Mrs. Pipchin’s, you could 
hardly send anybody who would be a further check 
upon her. You would go down yourself once a 
week at least, of course.” 

" Of course,” said Mr. Dombey, and sat looking 
at one page for an hour afterwards, without reading 
one word. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


93 


PAUL LIVES BY THE OCEAN. 

This celebrated Mi’s. Pipchin was a marvellous, 
ill-favored, ill-conditioned old lady, of a stooping 
figure, with a hook-nose, and a hard gray eye. 
Forty years at least had elapsed since the death of 
Mr. Pipchin; hut his widow still wore mourning of 
such a lustreless, deep, dead, somber shade, that gas 
itself couldn’t light her up after dark, and her 
presence was a quencher to any number of candles. 

She was generally spoken of " as a great 
manager ” of children; and the secret of her manage- 
ment was, to give them everything that they didn’t 
like, and nothing that they did — which was found 
to sweeten their dispositions very much. She was 
such a bitter old lady, that one was tempted to 
believe that all the waters of gladness and milk of 
human kindness had been pumped out dry. 

The castle of this ogress and child-queller was 
in a steep by-street at Brighton. 


94 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


Within three days after Mrs. Chick’s first 
allusion to her, this excellent old lady had the 
satisfaction of receiving Florence and her little 
brother Paul as inmates of the castle. 

Mrs. Chick, who had brought them down on the 
previous night, had just driven away from the door, 
and Mrs. Pij)chin, with her back to the fire, stood 
reviewing the new-comers like an old soldier. 

Mrs. Pipchin’s middle-aged neice, her good- 
natured and devoted slave, but possessing a gaunt 
and iron-bound aspect, was divesting a Master 
Bitherstone of the clean collar he had worn on 
parade. Miss Pankey, the only little boarder at 
present, had that moment been walked off to the 
Castle Dungeon for having sniffed thrice in the 
presence of visitors. 

"Well, sir,” said Mrs. Pipchin to Paul, "how do 
you think you shall like me ? ” 

" I don’t think I shall like yon at all,” replied 
Paul, "I want to go away. This isn’t my house.” 
"hfo; it’s mine,” retorted Mrs. Pipchin. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


95 


''It’s a very nasty one,” said Paul. 

" There’s a worse place in it than this, though,” 
said Mrs. Pipchin, "where we shut np our bad 
boys.” 

"Has he ever been in it?” asked Paul, pointing 
out Master Bitherstone. 

Mrs. Pipchin nodded assent; and Paul had 
enough to do for the rest of that day in surveying 
Master Bitherstone from head to foot, and watching 
all the workings of his countenance, with the interest 
attaching to a boy of terrible experience. 

At one o’clock there was a dinner, chiefly of the 
vegetable kind, when Miss Pankey, a little bine- 
eyed morsel of a child, was led in from captivity 
by the ogress herself, and instructed that nobody 
who sniffed before visitors ever went to Heaven. 
"When this great truth had been thoroughly 
impressed upon her, she was given rice to eat. 
Mrs. Pipchin’s niece took cold pork. Mrs. 
Pipchin, who required warm nourishment, made a 
special repast of mutton-chops, which were brought 


96 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


in hot, between two plates, and smelt very nice. 

As it rained after dinner, and they couldn’t go 
out walking on the beach, and Mrs. Pipchin always 
required rest after dining, they went away with 
Berry (the niece) to the Dungeon, an empty room 
looking out upon a wall and made ghastly by a 
ragged fire-place without any stove in it. 

Enlivened by company, however, this was the 
best place after all; for Berry jolayed with them 
there, and seemed to enjoy a game at romps as much 
as they did; until Mrs. Pipchin, knocking angrily on 
the wall, they left off, and Berry told them stories in 
a whisper until twilight. 

For tea there was plenty of milk and water, and 
bread and butter, with a little blaek tea-pot for Mrs. 
Pipchin and Berry, and buttered toast unlimited for 
Mrs. Pipchin, which was brought in, hot and hot, 
like the chops. 

After tea, Berry brought out a little work-box, 
and fell to working busily ; while Mrs. Pipchin, 
having put on her spectacles, and opened a great 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


97 


volume, began to nod. And whenever Mrs. Pipchin 
caught herself falling forward into the fire, and 
woke up, she boxed Master Bitherstone on the ears 
for nodding too. 

At last it was the children’s bed time ; and after 
prayers they went to bed. 

The breakfast next morning Avas like the tea 
over night, except that Mrs Pipchin took her roll 
instead of toast, and seemed a little more ill-natured 
when it was over. Then Miss Pankey was borne 
aAvay to be shampoo’d, and Master Bitherstone to 
have something else done to him with salt Avater, 
from AA^hich he alAvays returned A^ery blue and 
dejected. 

Paul and Florence Avent out in the meantime on 
the beach Avith Wickam — Avho Avas constantly in 
tears — and at about noon, Mrs. Pipchin read to the 
company. 

Such Avas life at Mrs. Pipchin’s. On Saturday 
Mr. Dombey came doAvn, and Florence and Paul 
would go to his hotel and haA^e tea. They passed 


98 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


the whole of Sunday with him, and generally rode 
out before dinner. Sunday evening was the most 
melancholy evening in the week; for Mrs. Pipchin 
always made a point of being particularly cross on 
Sunday nights. Miss Pankey was generally brought 
back from an aunt’s in deep distress; and Master 
Bitherstone, whose relatives were all in India, and 
who was required to sit, between the services, in an 
erect position, with his head against the parlor wall, 
neither moving hand or foot, suffered so in his 
young spirits, that he once asked Florence, on a 
Sunday night, if she could give him any idea of the 
way back to Bengal. 

But it was generally said that Mrs. Pipchin was 
a woman of system with children, and no doubt she 
was. Certainly the wild ones went home tame 
enough after living for a few months beneath her 
root. 

At this old lady, Paul would sit staring in his 
little arm-chair by the fire, for any length of time. 
He never seemed to know what weariness was, when 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


99 


he was looking fixedly at Mrs. Pipchin. He was not 
fond of her — he was not afraid of her — but in 
those odd old moods of his^ she seemed to have a 
strange attraction for him. There he would sit, 
looking at her, and warming his hands, and looking 
at her, until he sometimes made Mrs. Pipchin, ogress 
as she was, quite uneasy. Once she asked him, 
when they were alone, what he was thinking about. 

You,’’ said Paul, without the lea'st reserve. 

And what are you thinking about me? ” asked 
Mrs. Pipchin. 

I am thinking how old you must be,” said 

Paul. 

You mustn’t say such things as that, young 
gentleman,” returned the dame. That’ll never 
do.” 

"^AYhy not?” asked Paul. 

Because it’s not polite,” said Mrs. Pipchin, 
snappishly. 

Yot polite?” said Paul. 

Yo.” 


LOFC. 


100 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


" It’s not polite, ” said Paid innocently, ” to eat 
all the mutton-chops and toast, Wickam says.” 

” Wickam,” retorted Mrs. Pipchin, coloring, " is 
a wicked, impudent, bold-faced hussy ! ” 

" What’s that? ” asked Paul. 

" I^ever you mind, sir!” retorted Mrs. Pipchin. 
" Remember the story of the little boy that was 
killed by a mad bull for asking questions” 

" If tfie bull was mad,” said Paul, " how did he 
know that the boy had asked questions? Nobody 
can go and whisper secrets to a mad bull. I don’t 
believe that story.” 

"You don’t believe it, sir?” repeated Mrs. 
Pipchin, amazed. 

"No,” said Paul. 

" Not if it should happen to have been a tame 
bull? ” said Mrs. Pipchin. 

As Paul had not considered the subject in that 
light, he allowed himself to be put down for the 
present. But he sat turning it over in his mind so 
earnestly, that even that hardy old lady deemed it 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


101 


prudent to leave the room until he should have 
forgotten the subject. 

From that time, Mrs. Pipchin appeared to have 
something of the same odd kind of attraction 
towards Paul as Paul had towards her. She would 
make him move his chair to her side of the fire, 
instead of sitting opposite; and there he would 
remain in a nook between Mrs. Pipchin and the 
fender, studying every line and wrinkle of her 
countenance, and peering at the hard gray eye, 
until Mrs. Pipchin would sometimes shut it, on 
pretence of dozing. 

As Paul was no stronger at the expiration of a 
week than he had been on his first arrival, though he 
looked much healthier in the face, a little carriage 
was got for him, in which he could lie at his ease, 
and be wheeled down to the sea-side. 

Consistent in his odd tastes, the child chose to 
push his little wagon, a weazen, old, crab-faced man, 
in a suit of battered oil-skin, who had got tough and 
stringy from long pickling in salt water, and who 


102 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


smelt like a weedy sea-beach when the tide is 
out. 

With this old man to push him along, and 
Florence always walking by his side, and the tearful 
Wickam bringing up the rear, he went down to the 
ocean evei’y day ; and there he would sit or lie in his 
carriage for hours together — never so distressed as 
by the company of children — Florence alone 
excepted, always. 

" Go away, if you please,” he would say to any 
child who came to bear him company. " Thank 
you, but I don’t want you.” 

Some small voice, near his ear, would ask him 
how he was, perhaps. 

” I am very well, I thank you,” he would 
answer. ” But you had better go and play, if you 
please.” 

Then he woidd turn his head and watch the 
child away, and say to Florence, "We don’t want 
any others, do we, Floy?” 

He had even a dislike, at such" times, to the 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


103 


company of Wickam, and was well pleased when 
she strolled away, as she generally did. His 
favorite spot was quite a lonely one, and with 
Florence sitting by his side at work, or reading to 
him, or talking to him, and the wind blowing on his 
face, and the water coming up among the wheels of 
his bed, he wanted nothing more. 

” Floy,” said he, one day, " where’s India, where 
that boy’s friends live? ” 

” Oh, it’s a long, long distance off,” said 
Florence, raising her eyes from her work. 

" Weeks off? ” asked Paul. 

"Yes, dear; many weeks’ journey, night and 
day.” 

" If you were in India, Floy,” said Paul, after 
being silent for a minute, " I should — what is it 
that mamma did? I forget.” 

" Loved me ! ” answered Florence. 

"Yo, no. Don’t I love you now, Floy? What 
is it? — Died. If you were in India. I should die, 
Floy.” 


104 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


She hurriedly put her work aside, and laid her 
head down on his pillow, caressing him. And so 
would she, she said, if he were there. He would be 
better soon. 

"Oh! I am a great deal better now!” he 
answered. " I don’t mean that. I mean that I 
should die of being so sorry and so lonely, Floy ! ” 

Another time, in the same place, he fell asleep, 
and slept quietly for a long time. Awaking 
suddenly, he listened, stai’ted up, and sat listening. 

Florence asked him what he thought he heard. 

" I want to know what it says,” he answered, 
looking steadily in her face. " The sea, Floy — 
what is it that it keeps on saying? ” 

She told him that it was only the noise of the 
I'olling waves. 

" Yes, yes,” he said ; " but I know that they are 
always saying something — always the same thing. 
What place is over there ? ” He rose up, looking 
eagerly at the horizon. 

She told him that there was another country 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


105 


opposite, but he said he didn’t mean that — he meant 
farther away — farther away! 

Very often afterwards, in the midst of their 
talk, he would break off, to try to understand what 
it was that the waves were always saying; and 
would rise up in his couch to gaze toward that 
country so far away. 



106 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


LITTLE PAUL’S FIRST BUSINESS 
TRANSACTION. 

Some half a dozen times in the course of the year, 
Walter had pulled of his hat to Florence when 
meeting her in the streets of the city, and 
Florence had stopped to shake hands. Mrs. 
Wickam was so well used to this, knowing the story 
of their acquaintance, that she took no heed of it at 
all. Miss Nipper, on the other hand, had rather 
looked out for these occasions — her sensitive young 
heart being secretly propitiated by Walter’s good 
looks. 

Such was his condition at the Pipchin period, 
when he looked a little older than of yore, but not 
much; and was the same light-footed light-hearted, 
light-headed lad, as when he charged into the parlor 
at the head of Uncle Sol and the imaginary boarders. 

In this way Walter, so far from forgetting or 
lasing sight of his acquaintance with Florence, only 
remembered it better and better. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


107 


One day as Mr. Dombey and Mrs. Chick were 
sitting at breakfast in Brighton, Florence came 
running in, her eyes sparkling joyfully, and cried, 

'*^Papa! papa! Here’s Walter! and he wont 
come in.” 

Who ? ” cried Mr. Dombey. What does she 
mean? What is this?” 

Walter, papa!” said Florence timidly, sensible 
of having approached the presence with too much 
familiarity, ''Who found me when I was lost.” 

" Does she mean young Gray, Lousia? ” inquired 
Mr. Dombey, knitting his brows. "Really, this 
child’s manners have become very boisterous. See 
what it is, will 3^011?” 

Mrs. Chick hurried into the passage, and 
returned with the information that it was 3"oung Gay, 
accompanied by a very strange-looking person; and 
that young Gay said he would not take the liberty of 
coming in, hearing that Mr. Dombey was at break- 
fast, but would wait until Mr. Dombey should signify 
that he might approach. 


108 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


” Tell the boy to come in now,” said Mr. Dombey. 
"Now, Gay, what is the matter? Who sent you 
down here? Was there nobody else to come?” 

"I beg your pardon, sir,” returned Walter. "I 
have not been sent. I have been so bold as to come 
on my own account, which I hope you’ll pardon 
when I mention the cause.” 

But Mr. Dombey, without attending to what he 
said, was looking at some object behind. 

"What’s that?” said Mr. Dombey. "Who is 
that? I think you have made some mistake in the 
door, sir.” 

" Oh, I’m very sorry to intrude with anyone, 
sir,” cried Walter, hastily; "but this is — this is 
Captain Cuttle, sir.” 

" Wal’r, my lad,” observed the Captain, in a 
deep voice, " stand by ! ” 

■At the same time the Captain, coming a little 
further in, brought out his wide suit of blue, his 
conspicuous shirt-collar, and his knobby nose in full 
relief, and stood bowing to Mr. Dombey, and waving 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


109 


his hook politely to Mrs. Chick, with the hard glazed 
hat in his one hand. 

Mr. Doinbey regarded him with amazement and 
indignation. Little Paul/ who had come in after 
Florence, backed towards Mrs. Chick as the Captain 
waved his hook, and stood on the defensive. 

JnTow, Gay,’’ said Mr. Dombey, what have 
yon got to say to me ? ” 

Again the Captain observed, as a general 
opening of the conversation, 'AVal’r, stand 
by!” 

" I am afraid, sir,” began W alter, trembling, and 
looking down at the gronnd, "that I take a very 
great liberty in coming — indeed, I am sure I do. I 
shonld hardly have the courage to ask to see you, 
sir, even after coming down, I am afraid, if I had not 

overtaken Miss Dombey, and ” 

" AV ell ! ” said Mr. Dombey, following his eyes, 
as he glanced at the attentive Florence, and frowning 
unconsciously, as she encouraged him with a smile. 
"Go on, if you please.” 


no 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


"Ay, ay,” obseryed the Captain, "Well said! 
Go on, Wal’r.” 

Captain Cuttle ought to have been withered by 
the look which Mr. Domhey bestowed upon him. 
But, quite innocent of this, he closed one eye in 
reply, and gave Mr. Domhey to understand, by 
certain motions of his hook, that Walter was a little 
bashful at first, and might he expected to come out 
shortly. 

" It is entirely a private and personal matter that 
has brought me here, sir,” continued Walter, 
faltering, and Captain Cuttle ” 

" Here I ” interposed the Captain. 

" Who is a very old friend of my poor uncle’s, 
and a most excellent man, sir,” pursued Walter, 
raising his eyes with a look of entreaty in the 
Captain’s behalf, " was so good as to offer to come 
with me.” 

"Ho, no, no,” observed the Captain. "Of 
course not. Ho call for refusing. Go on, Wal’r.” 

"And, therefore, sir,” said Walter, venturing to 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


Ill 


meet Mr. Dombey’s eye, and proceeding with better 
courage in the very desperation of the case, now that 
there was no avoiding it — "therefore I have come 
with him, sir, to say that my poor old uncle is in very 
great affliction and distress. That, through the 
gradual loss of his business, and not being able to 
make a payment, is in danger of losing all he has and 
breaking his heart. And that if you would, in your 
kindness, and in your old knowledge of him as a 
respectable man, do anything to help him out of his 
difflculty, sir, we never could thank you enough for 
it.” 

Walter’s eyes filled with teai’s as he spoke; and 
so did those of Florence. Her father saw them 
glistening, though he appeared to look at "Walter 
only. 

"It is a very large sum, sir,” said Walter, — 
"more than three hundred pounds. My uncle is 
quite beaten down by his misfortune, it lies so heavy 
on him; and is quite unable to do anything for his 
own relief. He doesn’t even know yet that I have 


112 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


come to speak to you. You would wish me to say 
sir,” added Walter, after a moment’s hesitation, 
” exactly what it is I want. I really don’t know, sir. 
There is my uncle’s stock, on which, I believe I may 
say, confidently, there are no other demands; and 
there is Captain Cuttle, who would wish to be 
security too. I — I hardly like to mention,” said 
Walter, ” such earnings as mine; but if you would 
allow them — accumulate — payment — advance — 
uncle — frugal, honorable old man.” Walter trailed 
off, through these broken sentences, into silence, and 
stood, with downcast head, before his employer. 

When Walter ceased to speak, Mr. Dombey’s 
eyes were attracted to little Paul, who, seeing his 
sister hanging down her head and silently weeping, 
went over to her, and tried to comfort her, looking 
at Walter and his father as he did so with a very 
expressive face. 

'*What was this debt contracted for?” asked 
Mr. Dombey, 'at length. "Who is the creditor?” 

" He don’t know,” replied the Captain, putting 


PATJL DOMBEY. 


113 


his hand on Walter’s shoulder. "I do; it came of 
helping a man that’s dead now, and that’s cost my 
friend Gills many a hundred pound already. More 
particulars in private, if agreeable.” 

” People who have enough to do to hold their 
own way,” said Mr. Domhey, " had better be content 
with their own difficulties, and not increase them by 
engaging for other men. It is an act of dishonesty,” 
said Mr. Dombey, sternly, — ” great dishonesty; Paul 
come here ! ” 

The child obeyed ; and Mr. Dombey took him on 
his knee. 

"If you had money now — ” said Mr. Dombey. 
" Look at me ! ” 

Paul, whose eyes had wandered to his sister, 
and to Walter, looked his father in the face. 

" If you had money now,” said Mr. Dombey, — 
" as much money as young Gay has talked about — 
what would you do?” 

" Give it to his old uncle,” returned Paul. 

"Lend it to his old uncle, eh?” retorted Mr. 


114 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


Dombey. " Well, when you are old enough, you 
know, you will share my money, and we shall use it 
together.” 

" Dombey and Son,” interrupted Paul, who had 
been tutored early in the phrase. 

” Dombey and Son,” repeated his father. 
"Would you like to begin to be Dombey and Son 
now, and lend this money to yoiTiig Gay’s uncle?” 

" Oh ! if you please, papa ! ” said Paul ; " and so 
would Florence.” 

" Girls,” said Mr. Dombey, " have nothing to do 
with Dpmbey and Son. Would like it?” 

"Yes, pajDa; yes!” 

" Then you shall do it,” returned his father. 
" And you see, Paul,” he added, dropping his voice, 
" how powerful money is, and how anxious people 
are to get it. Young Gay comes all this way to beg 
for money, and you who are so grand and great, 
having got it, are going to let him have it as a great 
favor.” 

Paul turned up the old face for a moment, in 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


115 


which there was a shai'p understanding of these 
words* but it was a young and childish face immedi- 
ately aftei’wards, when he slipped down from his 
father’s knee, and ran to tell Florence not to cry any 
more, for he was going to let young Gay have the 
money. 

Mr. Dombey then turned to a side-table, and 
wrote a note and sealed it. During the interval, 
Paul and Florence Avhispered to Walter, and Captain 
Cuttle beamed on the three. 

The note being finished, Mr. Dombey turned 
round to his former place, and held it out to Walter. 

Give that,” he said, the first thing to-morrow 
morning, to Mi\ Carker. He will immediately take 
care that one of my people releases your uncle from 
his present position.” 

Walter would have tried to express something 
of his gratitude and joy, but Mr. Dombey stopped 
him short. 

You will consider that it is done,” he repeated, 
^^by Master Paul. I have explained that to him, 


116 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


and he understands it. I wish no more to be said.” 

As he motioned towards the door, Walter could 
only bow his head and retire. 

Captain Cuttle then kissed his hook to Mrs. 
Chick several times, with great elegance and 
gallantry; and having taken particular leave of Paul 
and Florence, went with AValter out of the room. 
Florence was running after him in the earnestness 
of her heart, to send some message to old Sol, when 
Mr. Dombey called her back, and bade her stay 
where she was. 

” Will you never be a Dombey my dear child ! ” 
said Mrs. Chick, with joathetic reproachfulness. 

” Dear aunt,” said Florence, ” don’t be angry 
with me. I am so thankful to papa!” 

She would have I’un and thrown her arms about 
his neck if she had dared; but, as she did not dare, 
she glanced with thankful eyes towards him where 
he sat watching Paul, who walked about the room 
with the new-blown dignity of having let young Gay 
have the money. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


117 


PAUL IS SENT TO SCHOOL. 

"Berry’s very fond of you, ain’t she?” Paul 
once asked Mrs. Pipchin, when they were sitting by 
the fire with the cat. 

" Yes,” said Mrs. Pipchin. 

"Why?” asked Paul. 

" AYhy ! ” returned the disconcerted old lady. 
" How can yon ask such things sir! AVhy are you 
fond of your sister Florence?” 

"Because she’s very good,” said Paul. 
" There’s nobody like Florence.” 

" AY ell ! ” retorted Airs. Pipchin, shortly ; " and 
there’s nobody like me I suppose?” 

"Ain’t there really, though?” asked Paul, 
leaning forward in his chair, and looking at her very 
hard. 

" Yo,” said the old lady. 

" I am glad of that,” observed Paid, rubbing his 
hands thoughtfully. " That’s a very good thing.” 


118 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


Mrs. Pipchin didn’t dare to ask him why. 

Mrs. Pipchin had kept watch and ward over 
little Paul and his sister for nearly twelve months. 
They had been home twice, but only for a few days, 
and had been constant in their weekly visits to Mr. 
Dombey at the hotel. By little and little Paul had 
grown stronger, — though he still looked thin and 
delicate — and still remained the same old, quaint, 
dreamy child, that he had been when first consigned 
to Mrs. Pipchin’s care. 

One Saturday afternoon at dusk, great constern- 
ation was occasioned in the castle by the unlooked- 
for announcement of Mr. Dombey as a visitor to 
Mrs. Pipchin. The population of the parlor was 
immediately swept up stairs as on the wings of a 
whirlwind; and after much slamming of bedroom 
doors, and tranqfiing overhead, and some knocking 
about of Master Bitherstone, Mrs. Pipchin in the 
black bombazine garments darkened the audience- 
chamber where Mr. Dombey sat staring at the 
vacant arm-chair of his son and heir. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


119 


” Mrs. Pipchin,” said Mr. Dombey, ” how do you 
do? ” 

" Thank you, sir,” said Mrs. Pipchin, ” I am 
pretty well, considering.” 

Mrs. Pipchin always used that form of words. It 
meant considering her virtues, saciafices and so forth. 

” I can’t expect sir, to be very well,” said Mrs. 
Pipchin, taking a chair, and fetching her breath; 
” but such health as I have, I am greatfnl for.” 

Mr. Dombey inclined his head with the satisfied 
air of one who felt that this was the sold of thing for 
which he paid so much a quarter. After a moment’s 
silence he went on to say, — 

"Mrs. Pipchin, I have taken the liberty of 
calling to consult you in reference to my son. I 
have had it in my mind to do so for some time past, 
but have deferred it from time to time iu order that 
his health might he thoroughly re-established. You 
have no misgivings on that subject, Mrs. Pipchin?” 

" Brighton has proved very beneficial sir,” 
returned Mrs. Pipchin, — " very beneficial, indeed.” 


120 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


” I purpose,” said Mr. Dombey, ” his remaining 
at Brighton.” 

Mrs. Pipchin rubbed her hands, and bent her 
gray eyes on the fiie. 

" But,” pursued Mr. Dombey, stretching out his 
forefinger, — ” but possibly that he should now make 
a change, and lead a different kind of life hei’e. In 
short, Mrs. Pipchin, that is the object of my visit. 
My son is getting on, Mrs. Pipchin. Really, he is 
getting on.” 

There was something melancholy in the 
triumphant air with which Mr. Dombey said this. 

” Six years old ! ” said Mr. Dombey, settling his 
neckcloth — perhaps to hide an irrepressible smile 
that rather seemed to strike upon the surface of his 
face and glance away, as finding no resting-place^ 
than to play there for an instant. "Dear me, six 
will be changed to sixteen, before we have time to 
look about us.” 

" Ten yeai’s,” croaked the unsympathetic Pipchin 
with a frosty glistening of her hard gray eye, and 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


121 


a dreary shaking of her bent head, ^'is a long 
time.” 

^^It depends on circumstances,” returned Mr. 
Dombey. '' At all events, Mrs. Pipchin, my son is 
six years old, and there is no doubt, I fear, that in 
his studies he is behind many children of his age. 
Now, Mrs. Pipchin, instead of being behind his 
peers, my son ought to be before them; far before 
them. The education of such a young gentleman 
must not be delayed. It must not be left imperfect. 
It must be very steadily and seriously undertaken, 
Mrs. Pipchin.” 

'AVell, sir,” said Mrs. Pipchin, can say 
nothing to the contrary.” 

I was quite sure, Mrs. Pipchin,” returned Mr. 
Dombey, approvingly, that a person of your good 
sense could not, and would not.” 

There is a great deal of nonsense talked about 
young people not being pressed too hard at first, and 
all the rest of it, sir,” said Mrs. Pipchin, impatiently 
rubbing her hooked nose. It never was thought 


122 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


of in my time, and it has no business to be thought 
of now. My opinion is, ' keep ’em at it.’ ” 

" My good madam,” returned Mr. Dombey, ” you 
speak wisely; and I beg you to believe, Mrs. 
Pipchin, that I am more than satisfied with your 
excellent system of management, and shall have the 
greatest pleasure in commending it. I have been 
thinking of Pr. Blimber’s, Mrs. Pipchin.” 

"My neighbor, sir?” said Mrs. Pipchin. "I 
believe the Doctor’s is an excellent establishment. 
I’ve heard that it is very strictly conducted, and that 
there’s nothing but learning going on from morning 
to night.” 

" And it’s very expensive,” added Mr. Dombey. 

"And it’s very expensive, sir,” returned Mrs. 
Pipchin, catching at the fact, as if in omitting that, 
she had omitted one of its leading merits. 

"I have had some communication with the 
Doctor, Mrs. Pipchin,” said Mr. Dombey, hitching 
his chair anxiously a little nearer to the fire, " and 
he does not consider Paul at all too young for his 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


123 


purpose. He mentioned several instances of boys in 
Greek at about the same age. If I have any little 
uneasiness in my own mind, Mrs. Pipchin, on the 
subject of the change, it is not on that head. My 
son, not having known a mother, has gradually 
concentrated much — too much — of his childish 
affection on his sister. Whether their separation 
’’ Mr. Dombey said no more, but sat silent. 

Hoity-toity ! ’’exclaimed Mrs. Pipchin, shaking 
out her black bombazine skirts, and plucking up all 
the ogress within her. 'Hf she don’t like it Mr. 
Dombey, she must be taught to lump it.” The good 
lady apologized immediately afterwards for using so 
common a figure of speech, but said that that was 
the way she reasoned with ’em. 

Mr. Dombey waited until Mrs. Pipchin had done 
bridling and shaking her head, and finished the 
interview by expressing his hope that Mrs. Pipchin 
would still remain in office as general superin- 
tendent and overseer of his son. Then, having 
kissed Paul, and shaken bauds with Florence, he 


124 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


withdrew to his hotel and dinner, resolved that Paul, 
now that he was getting so old and well, should 
begin an education which should fit him for the 
position in which he was to shine; and that Doctor 
Blimber should take him in hand at once. 

Whenever a young gentleman was taken in hand 
by Doctor Blimber, he might consider himself sure 
of a pretty tight squeeze. The Doctor only under- 
took the charge of ten young gentlemen, but he had 
always ready a supply of learning for a hundred on 
the lowest estimate; and it was at once the business 
and delight of his life to gorge the unhappy ten 
with it. 

The Doctor was a portly gentleman in a suit of 
black, with strings at his knees and stockings below 
them. He had a bald head, highly polished, a deep 
voice, and a very double chin. 

Miss Blimber, too, although a slim and graceful 
maid, did no soft violence to the gravity of the 
house. There was no light nonsense about Miss 
Blimber. She kept her hair short and crisp, and 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


125 


wore spectacles. She was dry and sandy with work- 
ing in the graves of dead languages. None of your 
live languages for Miss Bliinber ! They must be 
dead — stone-dead — and then Miss Blimber dng 
them np like a Ghoul. 

Mrs. Blimber, her mamma, was not learned 
herself, but she pretended to be, and that did quite 
as well. She said, at evening parties, that if she 
conld have known Cicero, she thought she conld 
have died contented. It was the steady joy of her 
life to see the Doctor’s young gentlemen go out 
walking, unlike all other young gentlemen, in the 
largest possible shirt-collars, and the stiffest possible 
ci-avats. It was so classical, she said. 

As to Mr. Feeder, B. A., Doctor Blimber’s assis- 
tant, he was a kind of human barrel-organ, with a 
little list of tunes at which he was continnally 
working, over and over again, without any variation. 

Upon the Doctor’s door-steps, one day, Paul 
stood with a fluttering heart, and with his small 
right hand in his father’s. His other hand was 


126 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


locked in that of Florence. How tight the tiny 
pressure of that one, and how loose and cold the 
other ! 

Mrs. Pipehin hovered behind the victim, with 
her sable plumage and her hooked beak, like a 
bird of ill-omen. She was out of breath — for Mr. 
Dombey, full of great thoughts, had walked fast, — 
and she croaked hoarsely as she waited for the 
opening of the door. 

"Now, Paul,” said Mr. Dombey, exultingly, 
"this is the way, indeed, to he Dombey and Son, 
and have money. You are almost a man already.” 

" Almost,” returned the child. 

" Doctor Bliinber is at home, I believe ? ” said 
Mr. Dombey as the door was opened. 

The man said, yes; and as they passed in, 
looked at Paul as if he were a little moitse, and the 
house were a trap. He was a weak-eyed young 
man, with the first faint streaks or early dawn of a 
grin on his countenance. He was a poor, half- 
witted youth ; but Mrs. Pipehin took it into her head 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


127 


that he was impudent, and made a snap at him 
directly. 

" How dare you laugh behind the gentleman’s 
back? ” said Mrs. Pipchin. " And what do you take 
me for?” 

" I ain’t a-laughing at nobody, and I’m sure I 
don’t take you for nothing ma’am,” returned the 
young man, in surprise. 

" A pack of idle dogs ! ” said Mrs. Pipchin. 
" Go and tell your master that Mr. Dombey’s here, 
or it’ll be worse for you ! ” 

The weak-eyed young man went, very meekly, 
and soon came back to invite them to the Doctor’s 
study. 

"You’re laughing again, sir,” said Mrs. Pipchin, 
when it came to her turn, bringing up the rear, to 
pass him in the hall. ' 

"I airCt'' returned the young man. "I never 
see such a thing as this ! ” 

The Doctor was sitting in his study. A globe 
at each knee, books all round him, Homer over the 


128 


PAUL D0MB3Y. 


door, and Minerva on the mantel-shelf. ” And how 
do you, sir?” he said to Mr. Dombey, "and how is 
my little friend? ” Gi’ave as an organ was the 
Doctor’s speech; and when he ceased, the great 
clock in the hall seemed to take him np, and to go 
on saying, "how, is, my, lit, tie, friend? how, is, my, 
lit, tie, friend?” over and over and over again. 

The little friend, being something too small to 
be seen at all from where the Doctor sat, over the 
books on his table, Mr. Dombey took Paul in his 
arms and set him on another little table, over against 
the Doctor, in the middle of the room. 

" Ha ! ” said the Doctor, leaning back in his 
chair, with his hand in his bi’east. "IS^ow I see my 
little friend. How do yon do, my little friend?” 

The clock in the hall continued to repeat, " how, 
is, my, lit, tie, friend? ’how, is, my, lit, tie, friend?” 

"Very well, I thank you, sir,” returned Paul, 
answering the clock quite as miich as the Doctor. 

" Ha ! ” said Doctor Blimber. " Shall we make 


a man of him ? ” 


PAUT. BOMBEY. 


129 


you hear, Paul?’’ added Mr. Dombey, 
Paul being silent. 

Shall we make a man of him?” repeated the 
Doctor. 

I had rather be a child,” replied Paul. 

Indeed,” said the Doctor. AVhy ? ” 

The child sat on the table looking at him, with 
a curious expression in his face, as if there were 
rising tears beneath it. His hand strayed away 
until it lighted on the neck of Florence. , This is 
why,” it seemed to say, and then the steady look 
was broken up and gone ; the working lip was 
loosened* and the tears came streaming forth. 

Mrs. Pipchin,” said his father, in a querulous 
manner, am really very sorry to see this.” 

Come away from him, do. Miss Dombey,” 
quoth the matron. 

^^'Neyer mind,” said the Doctor, blandly nodding 
his head, to keep Mrs. Pipchin back, — nev-er mind.” 

Permit me,” said the Doctor, one moment. 
Allow me to present Mrs. Blimber and my daughter.” 


130 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


At this moment thei’e was a knock at the room 
door. 

"Who is that?” said the Doctor. "Oh! come 
in, Toots ; come in. Mr. Domhey, sir.” Toots 
bowed. " Quite a coincidence ! ” said Doctor 
Blimber. "Here we have the beginning and the 
end. Our head boy, Mr. Dombey.” 

The Doctor might have called him their head 
and shoulders boy, for he was at least that much 
taller than any of the rest. He blushed very much 
at finding himself among strangers. 

" I think,” said Mr. Dombey, " I have now given 
all the trouble I need, and may take my leave. Paul, 
my child,” he went close to him, as he sat upon the 
table, " good-bye.” 

" Grood-bye, papa.” 

The limp and cai’eless little hand that Mr. 
Dombey took in his was singularly out of keeping 
with the wistful face. But he had no part in its 
sorrowful expression. It was not for him. iN^o, no; 
for Florence — all for Florence. 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


131 


Mr. Dombey bent down over his boy and kissed 
the child. 

shall see yon soon, Paul. Yon are free on 
Saturdays and Sundays, you know.” 

^'Yes, papa,” returned Paul, looking at his 
sister. On Saturdays and Sundays.” 

''And youdl try and learn a great deal here, and 
be a clever man,” said Mr. Dombey; "won’t you?” 

" I’ll try,” returned the child, wearily. 

"And you’ll soon be grown up now! ” said Mr. 
Dombey. 

"Oh! very soon!” replied the child. Once 
more the old, old look, passed rapidly across his 
features like a strange light. It fell on Mrs. Pipchin 
and lost itself in her black dress. That ogress 
stepped forward to take leave and to bear off 
Florence, which she had long been thirsting to do. 
The move on her part roused Mr. Dombey, whose 
eyes were fixed on Paul. After patting him on the 
head, and pressing his small hand again, he took 
leave of Dr. Blimber, Mrs. Blimber and Miss 


132 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


Blimber, with his usual polite frigidity, and walked 
out of the study. 

Despite his entreaty that they would not think 
of stirring, Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss 
Blimber, all pressed forward to attend him to the 
hall. To which happy accident Paul stood after- 
wards indebted for the dear remembrance, that 
Florence ran back to throw her arms round his 
neck, and that hers was the last face in the door- way, 
turned towards him with a smile of encouragement, 
all the brighter for tlie tears through which it 
beamed. 

It made his childish hosom heave and swell 
when she was gone. Then he heard the loud clock 
in the hall still gravely inquiring, ” how, is, my, lit, 
tie, friend? how, is, my, lit, tie, friend?” as it had 
done before. 

He sat, with folded hands, silently listening. 
But he might have answered, ” weary, weary ! very 
lonely, very sad ! ” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


133 


PAUL’S EDUCATION. 

After the la2)se of some minutes, which appeared 
an immense time to little Paul Dombey on the table, 
Doctor Blimber came back. The Doctor’s walk 
was stately, and calculated to im^iress the juvenile 
mind with solemn feelings. It was a sort of march j 
but when the Doctor jnit out his right foot, he 
gravely turned u^^on his axis, with a semicircular 
sweeji towards the left; and when he j)ut out his 
left foot, he turned in the same manner towards the 
right. So that he seemed, at every stride he took, 
to look about him as though he were saying, Can 
anybody have the goodness to indicate any subject, 
in any direction, on which I am uninformed? I 
rather think not.” 

Mrs. Blimber and Miss Blimber came back in 
the Doctor’s company; and the Doctor, lifting his 
new pupil olf the table, delivered him over to Miss 
Blimber. 


134 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


Cornelia/’ said the Doctor, Dombey will be 
your charge at first. Bring him on, Cornelia, bring 
him on.” 

Miss Blimber received her young ward from the 
Doctor’s hands; and Paul, feeling that the spec- 
tacles were surveying him, cast doAvn his eyes. 

^'How old are you, Dombey?” said Miss 
Blimber. 

Six,” answered Paul, wondering, as he stole a 
glance at the young lady, why her hair didn’t grow 
long like Florence’s, and why she was like a boy. 

How much do you know of your Latin 
Grammar, Dombey?” asked Miss Blimber. 

!None of it,” answered Paul. Feeling that the 
answer was a shock to Miss Blimber’s sensibility, he 
looked up at the three faces that were looking down 
at him, and said — 

haven’t been well. I have been a weak 
child. I couldn’t learn a Latin Grammar when I 
was out every day with old Glubb. I wish you’d 
tell old Glubb to come and see me, if you please.” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


135 


^*^What a dreadfully low name!’’ said Mrs. 
Blimber. Unclassical to a degree! Who is the 
monster, child?” 

^'What monster?” inquired Paul. 

Glubb,” said Mrs. Blimber, with a great 
disrelish. 

He’s no more a monster than you are,” 
returned Paul. 

'' What! ” cried the Doctor, in a terrible voice. 
^^Ay, ay, ay? Aha! What’s that?” 

Paul was dreadfully frightened; but still he 
made a stand for the absent Glubb, though he did it 
trembling. 

He’s a very nice old man, ma’am,” he said. 

He used to draw my coach. He knows all about 
the deep sea, and the fish that are in it, and the 
great monsters that come and lie on rocks in the 
sun, and dive into the water again when they’re 
startled, blowing and splashing so, that they can be 
heard for miles. There are some creatures,” said 
Paul, warming with his subject, I don’t know how 


136 ' 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


many yards long, and I forget their names, but 
Florence knows, that pretend to be in distress; and 
when a man goes near them, they open their great 
jaws and attack him. But all he has got to do,” 
said Paul, boldly tendering this information to the 
very Doctor himself, " is to keep on turning as he 
runs away, and then, as they turn slowly, because 
they are so long, and can’t bend, he’s sure to beat 
them. And, though old Glubb don’t know why the 
sea should make me think of my mamma that’s dead, 
or what it is that it is always saying. — alway saying! 
— he knows a gi’eat deal about it. And I wish,” 
the child concluded, with a sudden falling of his 
countenance, and failing in his animation, as he 
looked like one forlorn, upon the three strange faces, 
" that you’d let old Glubb come here to see me, for I 
know him very well, and he knows me.” 

” Ha ! ” said the Doctor, shaking his head, " this 
is bad, but study will do much.” 

Mrs. Blimber thought, with something like a 
shivei’, that he was an unnaecountable child; and 


PAUL DOMBF.Y. 


137 


looked at him pretty much as Mrs. Pipchin had been 
used to do. 

Take him round the house, Cornelia/’ said the 
Doctor, and familiarize him with his new sphere. 
Gro with that young lady, Dombey.” 

Dombey obeyed, giving his hand to the learned 
Cornelia, and looking at her sideways, with timid 
curiosity, as they went away together. For her 
spectacles, by reason of the glistening of the glasses, 
made her so mysterious that he didn’t know where 
she was looking, and was not indeed quite sure that 
she had any eyes at all behind them. 

Cornelia took him first to the school-room, 
which was situated at the back of the hall. Here 
there were eight young gentlemen in various stages 
of mental prostration, all very hard at work, and 
very grave indeed. Toots, as an old hand, had a 
desk to himself in one corner; and a magnificent 
man, of immense age, he looked, in Paul’s young 
eyes, behind it. 

Mr. Feeder, B. A., who sat at another little 


138 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


desk, had his Virgil stop on, and was slowly 
grinding that time to four young gentlemen. Of 
the remaining four, two were engaged in solving 
mathematical problems ; one with his face like a 
dirty window, from much crying, was endeavoring 
to flounder through a hopeless number of lines 
before dinner; and one sat looking at his task in 
stony stupefaction and despair — which it seemed 
had been his condition ever since breakfast-time. 

The appearance of a new boy did not create the 
sensation that might have been expected. Mr. 
Feeder, B. A., gave him a bony hand, and told him 
he was glad to see him — which Paul would have 
been very glad to have told liim^ if he could have 
done so with the least sincerity. 

Paul having been already introduced to Toots, 
that pupil merely chuckled and breathed hard, as his 
custom was, and pursued the occupation in which he 
was engaged. It was not a severe one; for on 
account of his having gone through ’’ so much, he 
now had license to pursue his own course of study, 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


139 


which was chiefly to write long letters to himself 
from persons of distinction, addressed, Toots, 
Esquire, Brighton, Sussex,’’ and to preserve them in 
his desk with great care. 

These ceremonies passed, Cornelia led Paul 
up-stairs to the top of the house, which was rather 
a slow journey, on account of Paul being obliged to 
land both feet on every stair before he mounted 
another. But they reached their journey’s end at 
last; and there, in a front room, looking over the 
wild sea, Cornelia showed him a nice little bed with 
white hangings, close to the window, on which there 
was already beautifully written on a card in round 
text — down strokes very thick, and up strokes very 
flue — Dombey ; while two other little bedsteads in 
the same room were announced, through like means, 
as Briggs and Tozer. 

Just as they got down stairs again into the hall, 
the gong sounded with great fury, and there was a 
general move towards the dining-room. 

Doctor Blimber was already in his place in the 


140 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


dining-room, at the top of the table, with Miss 
Blimber and Mrs. Blimber on either side of him. 

Grace having been said by the Doctor, dinner 
began. There was some nice soup; also roast meat, 
boiled meat, vegetables, pie, and cheese. Every 
young gentleman had a massive silver fork and a 
napkin; and all the arrangements were stately and 
handsome. 

iN^obody spoke, unless sjjoken to, except Doctor 
Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, and Miss Blimber, who 
conversed occasionally. 

Whenever a young gentleman was not actually 
engaged with his knife and fork or spoon, his eye 
sought the eye of Doctor Blimber, Mrs. Blimber, or 
Miss Blimber, and modestly rested there. Toots 
appeared to be the only exception to this rule. He 
sat next Mr. Feeder on Paul’s side of the table, and 
frequently looked behind and before the intervening 
boys to catch a glimpse of Paul. 

After dinner. Doctor Blimber said, "Gentlemen, 
rise for Grace! Cornelia, lift Dombey down. We 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


141 


will resume our studies, Mr. Feeder, in half an 
hour.’’ 

The young gentlemen bowed and withdrew. 
Mr. Feeder did likewise. During the half-hour, the 
young gentlemen, broken into pairs, loitered arm-in- 
arm up and down a small piece of ground behind 
the house. But nothing happened so vulgar as 
play. Punctually at the appointed time, the gong 
was sounded, and the studies, under the joint 
auspices of Doctor Blimber and Mr. Feeder, were 
resumed. 

Oh Saturdays! Oh, happy Saturdays, when 
Florence always came at noon, and jiever would, in 
any weather, stay away, though Mrs. Pipchin 
snarled and growled, and worried her bitterly. 
Those Saturdays were Sabbaths for at least two 
little children, and did the holy Sabbath work of 
strengthening and knitting up a brother’s and a 
sister’s love. 

'Not even Sunday nights — the heavy Sunday 
nights, whose shadow darkened the first waking 


142 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


burst of light on Sunday moi’uings — could mar 
those j^recious Saturdays. Whether it was the great 
sea-shore, where they sat, and strolled together, or 
whether it was only Mrs. Pipchin’s dull back room, 
in which she sang to him so softly, with his drowsy 
head upon her arm, Paul never cared. It was 
Florence. That was all he thought of. So, on 
Sunday nights, when the Doctor’s dark door stood 
agape to swallow him up for another week, the time 
was come for taking leave of Florence; no one 
else. 

Mrs. Wickam had been drafted home to the 
house in town, and Miss Nipper, now a smart young 
woman, had come down. To many a single combat 
with Mrs. Pipchin did Miss Nipper gallantly devote 
herself; and if ever Mrs. Pipchin in all her life had 
found her match, she had found it now. 

Miss Nipper asked and gave no quarter. She 
said it must be war, and war it was; and Mrs. 
Pipchin lived from that time in the midst of sur- 
prises, and skirmishing attacks that came bouncing 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


143 


in upon her from the passage, in unguarded 
moments, and carried desolation to her very toast. 

Miss Nipper had returned one Sunday night 
with Florence, from walking back with Paul to the 
Doctor’s, when Florence took from her pocket a 
little piece of paper, on which she had pencilled 
down some words. 

See here, Susan,” she said. These are the 
names of the little books that Paul brings home to 
do those long exercises with, when he is so tired. I 
copied them last night while he was writing.” 

'' Don’t show ’em to me. Miss Floy, if you 
please,” returned Nipper; 'M’d as soon see Mrs. 
Pipchin.” 

I want you to buy them for me, Susan, if you 
will, to-morrow morning; I have money enough,” 
said Florence. 

Why, goodness gracious me. Miss Floy,” 
returned Miss Nipper, how can you talk like that, 
when you have books upon books already, and 
masterses and mississes a-teaching of you every- 


144 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


thing; though my belief is that your Pa, Miss 
Dombey, nevir would have learnt you nothing — 
never would have thought of it — unless you’d asked 
him, when he couldn’t well refuse; but giving 
consent when asked, and offering when unasked. 
Miss, is quite two things.” 

"But you can buy me the books, Susan; and 
you will, when you know why I want them.” 

"Well, Miss, and why do you want ’em?’ 
replied Nipper; adding, in a lower voice, "If it was 
to fling at Mrs. Pipchin’s head, I’d buy a cart-load.” 

"I think I could, perhaps, give Paul some help, 
Susan, if I had these books,” said Florence, "and 
make the coming week a little easier to hinr. At 
least I want to try. So buy them for me, dear, and 
I will never forget how kind it was of you to do 
it.” 

It must have been a harder heart than Susan 
Nipper’s that could have rejected the little purse 
Florence held out with these words, or the gentle 
look of entreaty with which she seconded her 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


145 


petition. Susan put the purse in her pocket without 
reply, and trotted out at once upon her errand. 

The hooks were not easy to procure; and the 
answer at several shops was, either that they were 
just out of them, or that they never kej^t them, or 
that they had had a great many last month, or that 
they expected a great many next week. 

But Susan was not easily baffled, and, having 
entrapped a white-haired clerk, she led him such a 
race up and down, that he exerted himself to the 
utmost, if it were only to get rid of her; and finally 
enabled her to return home in triumph. 

With these treasures, then, after her own daily 
lessons were over, Florence sat down at night to 
ti'ack Paul’s footsteps through the thorny ways of 
learning; and being possessed of a naturally quick 
and sound mind, and being taught by that most 
wonderful of masters, love, it was not long before 
she gained upon Paul’s heels, caught up, and passed 
him. 

H'ot a word of this was breathed to Mrs. 


146 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


Pipchhi ; but many a night when they were all in 
bed, and when Miss Nipper with her hair in papers, 
reposed by her side; and when the clinking ashes in 
the grate were cold and gray, and when the candles 
were burnt down, Florence w’orked for little Paiil. 

And high was her reward, when on Saturday 
evening, as little Paul was sitting down as usual to 
''resume his studies,” she sat down by his side, 
and made for him all that was so rough, smooth, 
and all that was so dark, clear and plain before him. 
It was nothing but a startled look in Paul’s wan 
face — a flush — a smile — but God knows how her 
heart leaped up at this rich payment for her trouble. 

" Oh, Floy ! ” cried her brother, " how I love 
you ! — how I love you, Floy ! ” 

" And I you, dear ! ” 

" Oh ! I am sure of that, Floy.” 

He said no more about it, but all that evening 
sat close by her, very quiet; and in the night he 
called out from his little room within hers, three or 
four times, "I love you, Floy.” 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


147 


Regularly, after that, Florence sat down with 
Paul on Saturday night, and patiently helped him 
through his next week’s work. The cheering 
thought that he was laboring on where Florence had 
toiled before him, would of itself have been a stimu- 
lant to Paul, but, coupled with the actual lightening 
of his load, it saved him, possibly, from sinking 
underneath the burden which the fair Cornelia 
Blimber piled upon his back. 

Paul grew more thoughtful and reserved every 
day. He loved to be alone; when he was not busy 
with his books, liked nothing so well as wandering 
about the house by himself, or sitting on the stairs, 
listening to the great clock in the hall. 

He knew all the paper hanging in the house; 
saw things that no one else saw in the patterns; 
found out miniature tigers and lions running up the 
bed-room walls, and squinting faces living in the 
squares and diamonds of the floor-cloth. 

The solitary child lived on, surrounded by this 
work of his musing fancy, and no one understood 


148 


PAUL UOMBEY, 


him. Mrs. Blimber thought him odd and some- 
times the servants said among themselves that little 
Doinbey moped’’; but that was all. 

'^Mlow are you?” Toots would say to Paul, fifty 
times a day. 

Quite well, sir, thank you,” Paul would 
answer. 

Shake hands,” would be Toots’ next advance. 

Which Paul, of course would immediately do. 
Mr. Toots generally said again, after a long interval 
of staring and hard breathing, ^MIow are you?” 
To which Paul again replied, ^H^uite well, sir, thank 
you.” 

One evening, as Mr. Toots was sitting at his 
desk a great purpose seemed to flash upon him. lie 
laid down his pen, and went off to seek Paul, whom 
he found at last, after a long search, looking 
through the window of his little bedroom. 

I say ! ” cried Toots, speaking the moment he 
entered the room, lest he should forget it, '^what 
do you think about?” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


149 


^'Oh! I think about a great many things/^ 
replied Paul. 

Do you, though?’’ said Toots, appearing to 
consider the fact in itself surprising. 

you had to die — ” said Paul, looking up 
into his face. 

Mr. Toots started, and seemed much disturbed. 

— Don’t you think you would rather die on a 
moonlight night, when the sky was quite clear, 
and the wind blowing, as it did last night?” 

Mr. Toots said, looking doubtfully at Paul, and 
shaking his head, that he didn’t know about 
that. 

blowing, at least,” said Paul, 'Mont sound- 
ing in the air as the sea sounds in the shells. It 
was a beautiful night. When I had listened to the 
water for a long time, I got up and looked out. 
There was a boat over there in the full light of the 
moon — a boat with a sail.” 

The child looked at him so steadfastly, and 
spoke so earnestly, that Mr. Toots, feeling himself 


150 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


called upon to say something about this boat, said, 
" Smugglers.” 

"A boat with a sail,” repeated Paul, "in the 
full light of the moon. The sail like an arm, all 
silver. It went away into the distance, and what do 
you think it seemed to do as it moved with the 
waves?” 

"Pitch,” said Mr. Toots. 

" It seemed to beckon,” said the child, — " to 
beckon me to come ! — There she is ! — There 
she is ! ” 

Toots was almost beside himself with dismay at 
this sudden exclamation, after what had gone before, 
and cried, " Who ? ” 

" My sister Florence ! ” cried Paul, " looking up 
here, and waving her hand. She sees me — she 
sees me! Good-night dear; good-night, good- 
night ! ” 

His quick transition to a state of unbounded 
pleasure, as he stood at his window, kissing and 
clapping his hands; and the way in which the light 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


151 


retreated from his features as she passed out of 
his view, and left a patient melancholy on the little 
face, were too remarkable wholly to escape even 
Toots’ notice. 

The evenings being longer now, Paul stole up 
to his window every evening to look out for 
Florence. She always passed and repassed at a 
certain time, until she saw him; and their mutual 
recognition was a gleam of sunshine in Paul’s daily 
life. Often, after dark, one other figure walked 
alone before the Doctor’s house. He rarely joined 
them on the Saturday now. He could not bear it. 
He would rather come unrecognized, and look up 
at the windows where his son was qualifying for 
a man, and wait, and watch, and plan, and hope. 

Oh! could he but have seen, or seen as others 
did, the slight, spare boy above, watching the waves 
and clouds at twilight, with his earnest eyes, and 
pressing close to the window of his solitary cage 
when the birds flew by, as if he too would soar 
away ! 


152 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


PAUL’S ANALYSIS. 

It was perfectly understood between Paul and 
Mr. Toots, that they were intimate friends, notwith- 
standing* their distance in point of years and station. 
As the vacation approached, and Mr. Toots breathed 
harder and stared oftener in Paufs society than he 
had done before, Paul knew that he meant he was 
sorry they were going to lose sight of each other. 

They were within two or three weeks of the 
holidays when, one day, Cornelia Blimber called 
Paul into her room, and said, ^ ' Dombey, Ihn going 
to send home your analysis.’’ 

Thank you, ma’am,” returned Paul. 

'^'^You know what I mean, do you, Dombey?” 
inquired Miss Blimber, looking hard at him, through 
the spectacles. 

ma’am,” said Paul. 

Dombey, Dombey,” said Miss Blimber, I 
begin to be afraid you are a sad boy. When you 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


153 


don’t know the meaning of an expression, why don’t 
you seek for information?” 

^^Mrs. Pipchin told me I wasn’t to ask ques- 
tions,” returned Paul. 

must beg you not to mention Mrs. Pipchin 
to me, on any account, Dombey,” returned Miss 
Blimber, couldn’t think of allowing it.” 

I didn’t mean, ma’am — ” began little Paul, 
must trouble you not to tell me that you 
didn’t mean, if you please, Dombey,” said Miss 
Blimber, with awful politeness. 

Paul felt it safest to say nothing at all, so 
he only looked at Miss Blimber’s spectacles. 
Miss Blimber having shaken her head at him 
gravely, referred to a paper lying before her. 

' Analysis,’ ” resumed Miss Blimber, casting 
her eye over the paper, ^ of the character of 
P. Dombey.’ I find that the natural capacity of 
Dombey is extremely good; and that his general 
disposition to study may be stated in an equal ratio. 
Thus, taking eight as our standard and highest 


154 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


number, I find these qualities in Dombey stated each 
at six three-fourths!” 

Miss Bliinber paused to see how Paid received 
this news. Being undecided what six three-fourths 
meant, Paul rubbed his hands and looked straight at 
Miss Blimber. It happened to answer as well as 
anything else he could have done, and Cornelia 
proceeded, — 

” ' Violence, two. Selfishness, two. Inclina- 
tion to low company, as evinced in the case of a 
person named Glubb, originally seven, but since 
reduced. Gentlemanly demeanor, four, and improv- 
ing with advancing years.’ How, what I particu- 
larly wish to call your attention to, Dombey, is the 
general observation at the close of this analysis.” 

Paul set himself to folloAV it with great care. 

" ' It may be generally observed of Dombey,’ ” 
said Miss Blimber, reading in a loud voice, and at 
every second word directing her spectacles towards 
the little figure before her, " ' that his abilities and 
inclinations are good, and that he has made as much 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


155 


progress as under the circumstances could have 
been expected. But it is to be lamented of this 
young gentleman that he is singular (what is 
usually termed old-fashioned) in his character and 
conduct, and is often very unlike other young 
gentlemen of his age and social position.’ JSTow, 
Dombey,” said Miss Blimber, laying down her 
paper, do you understand that? ” 

”I think I do, ma’am,” said Paul. 

This analysis, you see, Dombey,” Miss 
Blimber continued, is going to be sent home to 
your respected parent. It will naturally be very 
painful to him to find that you are singular in 
your character and conduct. It is naturally painful 
to us; for we can’t like you, you know, Dombey, 
as well as we could wish.” 

She touched the child upon a tender point. He 
had secretly become more and more solicitious from 
day to day, as the time of his departure drew 
more near, that all the house should like him. For 
some hidden reason, very imperfectly understood by 


156 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


himself — if understood at all — he felt a gradually 
increasing impulse of affection towards everything 
and everybody in the place. He could not bear to 
think that they would be quite indifferent to him 
when he was gone. He wanted them to remember 
him kindly; and he had made it his business even to 
make peace with a great hoarse, shaggy dog, 
chained up at the back of the house, that even he 
might miss him when he was no longer there. 

Little thinking that in this he only showed 
the difference between himself and his schoolmates, 
poor tiny Paul set it forth to Miss Blimber as well 
as he could, and begged her to have the goodness 
to try and like him. To Mrs. Blimber who had 
joined them he made the same petition; and when 
that lady could not forbear saying that he was 
an odd child, Paul told her that he was sure she was 
quite right; that he thought it must be his bones, 
but he didn’t know ; and that he hoped she would 
overlook it, for he was fond of them all. 

Is ot so fond,” said Paul, with a mixture of 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


157 


timidity and perfect frankness, not so fond as I am 
of Florence, of course; that could neyer be. You 
couldn’t expect that, could you, ma’am?” 

Oh, the old-fashioned little soul ! ” cried Mrs. 
Blimber, in a whisper. 

''But I like everybody here veiy much,” pur- 
sued Paul, "and I should grieve to go away, and think 
that any one was glad that I was gone, or didn’t care.” 

Mrs. Blimber was not quite sure that Paul was 
the oddest child in the world, and told the Doctor 
what had passed. 

Paul had had a hard life of it. But over and 
above the getting through his tasks, he had long had 
another purpose to which he still held fast. It 
was to be a gentle, useful, quiet little fellow, always 
striving to secure the love of the rest; and, though 
he was yet often to be found at his old post on 
the stairs, or watching the waves and the clouds 
from his solitary window, he was oftener found 
among the other boys, modestly rendering them 
some little voluntary service. 


158 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


Thus it came to pass that Paul was an object of 
general interest — a fragile little plaything that they 
all liked and that no one would have thought of 
treating roughly. But he could not change his 
nature, or re-write the analysis; and so they all 
agreed that Dombey was ” old-fashioned.” 



PAUL DOMBEY. 


159 


PAUL’S INVITATION TO THE PARTY. 

Going into Mi*. Feeder’s room one evening, 
when the holidays were very near, Paul found him 
filling np the blanks in some printed letters, while 
some others, already filled up and strewn before 
him, were being folded and sealed by Mr. Toots. 
Mr. Feeder said, " Aha, Dombey, there you are, are 
you?” — for they were always kind to him, and glad 
to see him — and then said, tossing one of the letters 
towards him, "And there you are, too, Dombey. 
That’s yours.” 

"Mine sir?” said Paul. 

" Your invitation,” returned Mr. Feeder. 

Paul, looking at it, found, in copper-plate print, 
with the exception of his own name and the date, 
which were in Mr. Feeder’s penmanship, that Mr. 
and Mrs. Blimber requested the pleasure of Mr. 
P. Dombey’s company at an early party on Wednes- 
day Evening the Seventeenth Instant; and that the 


160 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


hour was half past seven o’clock; and that the 
object was Quadrilles. 

Mr. Toots also showed him by holding up a 
companion sheet of paper, that Mr. and Mrs. 
Blimber requested the pleasure of Mr. Toots’s 
company at an early party on Wednesday Evening 
the Seventeenth Instant, when the hour was half- 
past seven o’clock, and when the object was 
Quadrilles. 

He also found, on glancing at the table where 
Mr. Feeder sat, that the pleasui*e of Mr. Briggs’ 
company, and of Mr. Tozei*’s company, and of every 
young gentleman’s company, was requested by Mr. 
and Mrs. Blimber on the same genteel occasion. 

Mr. Feeder then told him, to his great joy, that 
his sister was invited, and that it was a half-yearly 
event, and that, as the holidays began that day, he 
could go away with his sister after the party, if he 
liked, which Paul interrupted him to say he would 
like, very much. 

Mr. Feeder then gave him to understand that 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


161 


he woiilcl be expected to inform Doctor and Mrs. 
Bliinber, in his veiy best penmanship, that Mr. P. 
Dombey would be happy to have the honor of 
accepting their polite invitation. 

Paul thanked Mr. Feeder for these hints, and 
pocketing his invitation, sat down on a stool by the 
side of Mr. Toots as nsnal.- But Paul’s head, which 
had long been ailing more or less, and was some- 
times very heavy and painful, felt so uneasy that 
night that he was obliged to support it on his 
hand. And yet it drooped so, that by little and 
little, it Slink on Mr. Toots’ knee, and rested there, 
as if it had no care to be ever lifted np again. 

There was no reason why he should be deaf; 
but he must have been, he thought, for, by-and-by^ 
he heard Mr. Feeder calling in his ear, and gently 
shaking him to rouse his attention. And Avhen he 
raised his head, quite scared, and looked about him, 
he found that Dr. Blimber had come into the room; 
and that the window was open, and that his fore- 
head was wet with sprinkled water; though how all 


162 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


this had been done without his knowledge, was very 
curious indeed. 

” Ah ! Come, come ! That’s well ! How is my 
little friend now?” said Dr. Blimber, encouragingly. 

" Oh, quite well, thank you, sir,” said Paul. 

But there seemed to be something the matter 
with the floor, for he couldn’t stand ujjon it steadily; 
and with the walls, too, for they were inclined to 
turn round and round, and could only be stopped by 
being looked at very hard indeed. Mr. Toots’s head 
had the appearance of being at once bigger and 
farther otf than was quite natural; and when he took 
Paul in his arms to carry him upstairs, Paul 
obseived with astonishment that the door was in 
quite a different place from that in which he had 
expected to And it, and almost thought, at first, that 
Mr. Toots was going to walk straight up the 
chimney. 

It was very kind of Mr. Toots to carry him to 
the top of the house so tenderly; and Paul told 
him that it was. But Mr. Toots said he would do 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


163 


a great deal more than that if he could; and indeed 
he did more as it was, for he helped Paul to 
undress, and helped him to bed in the kindest 
manner possible. 

How Mr. Toots melted away, and Mr. Feeder 
changed into Mrs. Pipehin, Paul never thought of 
asking — neither was he at all curious to know — 
hut when he saw Mrs. Pipehin standing at the 
bottom of the bed, instead of Mr. Feeder, he cried 
out, Mrs. Pipehin, don’t tell Florence ! ” 

Don’t tell Florence what, my little Paul?” 
said Mrs. Pipehin, coming round to the bedside, and 
sitting down in the chair. 

About me,” said Paul. 

'']^o, no,” said Mrs. Pipehin. 

What do you think I mean to do when I grow 
up, Mrs. Pipehin?” inquired Paul, turning his face 
towards her on his pillow, and resting his chin 
wistfully on his folded hands. 

Mrs. Pipehin couldn’t guess. 

I mean,” said Paul, to put my money 


164 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


all together in one bank, never try to get any more, 
go away into the country with my darling Florence, 
have a beautiful garden, fields, and woods, and live 
there with her all my life ! ’’ 

'' Indeed!’’ cried Mrs. Pipchin. 

^^Yes,” said Paul; ^'that’s what I mean to do, 
when I — ” He stopped and pondered for a 
moment. 

Mrs. Pipchin’s gray eye scanned his thoughtful 

face. 

'' If I grow up,” said Paul. Then he went on 
immediately to tell Mrs. Pipchin all about the party, 
about Florence’s invitation, about the pride he 
would have in the admiration that would be felt 
for her by all the boys, about their being so kind 
to him and fond of him, about his being so fond of 
them, and about his being so glad of it. Then he 
told Mrs. Pipchin about the analysis, and about his 
being certainly old-fashioned. 

There was a certain calm Apothecary, who 
attended at the establishment when any of the 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


165 


young gentlemen were ill, and somehow he got into 
the room and ajipeared at the bedside with Mrs. 
Blimber. How they came there, or how long they 
had been there, Paul didn’t know; but when he saw 
them he sat up in bed, and answered all the Apothe- 
cary’s questions at full length, and whispered to him 
that Florence was not to know anything about it, if 
he pleased, and that he had set his mind upon her 
coming to the party. 

Lying down again with his eyes shut, he heard 
the Apothecary say, that as the little fellow had set 
his heart on parting with his schoolmates on the 
seventeenth, it would be better to indulge the fancy 
if he grew no worse. That he was glad to hear 
from Mrs. Pipchin that the little fellow would go to 
his friends in London on the eighteenth. That he 
would write to Mr. Dombey, when he should have 
gained a better knowledge of the case, and before 
that day. That there was no immediate cause for — 
what? Paul lost that word. And that the little 
fellow had a fine mind, but was an old-fashioned boy. 


166 


PAUT- DOMBEY. 


AVhat old-fashion could that he, Paul wondered, 
so plainly seen by so many people! 

Everybody was very good to Paul, and they 
looked in before going to bed, and said, " How are 
you now, Dombey?” "Cheer up, little Dombey!" 
and so forth. 

In the morning the Apothecary came again. 

" Yes, I think, Doctoi- Blimber,” said he, " we 
may release this young gentleman from his hooks 
just now — the vacation being so very near at 
hand.” ' 

" By all means,” said Dr. Blimber. 

" Assuredly,” said Mrs. Blimber. 

The Apothecary, bending down, looked closely 
into Paul’s eyes, and felt his head, and his pulse, 
and his heart, with so much interest and care, that 
Paul said, — " Thank you, sir.” 

" Our little friend,” observed Dr. Blimber, " has 
never complained.” 

" Oh, no ! ” replied the Apothecary j " he was 
not likely to complain.” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


167 


^'You find him greatly better?’’ said Doctor 
Blimber. 

Oh ! He is greatly better, sir,” returned the 
Apothecary. 

Paul lay in bed all that day, dozing and 
dreaming, and looking at Mr. Toots; but he got up 
on the next, and went down stairs. Lo and behold, 
there was something the matter with the great 
clock; and a workman on a pair of steps had taken 
its face off, and was poking instruments into the 
works by the light of a candle ! This was a great 
event for Paul, who sat down on the bottom stair, 
and watched the operation attentively; now and 
then glancing at the clock face, leaning all askew, 
against the wall hard by, and feeling a little con- 
fused by a suspicion that it was ogling him. 

The workman on the steps was very civil; and 
as he said, when he observed Paul, How do you 
do. Sir?” Paul got into conversation with him, and 
told him he hadn’t been quite well lately. The ice 
being thus broken, Paul asked him a multitude of 


168 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


questions about chimes and clocks; as, whethei’ 
people watched up in the lonely church steeples hy 
night to make them strike, and how the bells were 
rung when people died, and whether those were 
ditferent bells from wedding bells, or only sounded 
dismal in the fancies of the living. Finding that his 
new acquaintance was not very well informed on the 
subject of the Curfew Bell of ancient days, Paul 
gave him an account of that institution; and also 
asked him, as a practical man, what he thought 
about King Alfred’s idea of measuring time by 
the burning of candles; to which the workman 
replied, that he thought it would be the ruin of the 
clock ti’ade if it was to come up again. In fine, 
Paul looked on until the clock had quite recovered 
its familiar aspect, and resinned its sedate inquiry; 
when the workman, putting away his tools in a 
long basket, bade him good-day, and went away. 
Though not before he had whispered something, on 
the door-mat, to the footman, in which was the 
phrase ” old-fashioned ” — for Paul heard it. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


169 


PAUL ATTENDS THE PARTY. 

What could that old-fashion be, that seemed to 
make the j)eople sorry! What could it be! 

Having nothing to learn now, he thought of 
this fi'equently, though not so often as he might 
have done, if he had had fewer things to think of. 
But he had a great many, and was always thinking 
all day long. 

First, there was Florence coming to the party. 
Florence would see that the boys were fond of him, 
and that would make her happy. This was his 
great theme. Let Florence once be sure that they 
were gentle and good to him, and that he had 
become a little favorite among them, and then she 
would always think of the time he had passed there 
without being very sorry. Florence might be all the 
happier, too, for that, perhaps, when he came back. 

When he came back! Fifty times a day his 
noiseless little feet went up the stairs to his own 


170 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


room, as he collected every book, and scrap, and 
trifle that belonged to him, for taking home ! There 
was no shade of coming back on little Paul — no 
preparation for it, or other reference to it. 

In those days Paul was such a privileged pupil 
as had never been seen in that house before. He 
could hardly believe it himself; but his liberty lasted 
from hour to hour, and from day to day, and little 
Dombey was caressed by every one. Doctor Blim- 
ber was so jjarticular about him that he requested 
Briggs to retire from the dinner-table one day, for 
having thoughtlessly spoken to him as "poor little 
Dombey”; which Paul thought rather hard and 
severe, though he had flushed at the moment, and 
wondered why Briggs should pity him. 

And now it was that Paul began to think it 
must surely be old-fashioned to be very thin, and 
light, and easily tired, and soon disposed to lie down 
anywhere and rest; for he couldn’t help feeling that 
these were more and moi-e his habits every day. 

At last the party-day arrived; and Doctor 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


171 


Blimber said, at breakfast, Gentlemen, we will 
resume our studies on the twenty-fifth of next 
month.’’ 

When Paul was dressed — which was very soon 
done, for he felt ill and drowsy, and was not able 
to stand about it very long — he went down into 
the drawing-room, where he found Doctor Blimber 
pacing up and down the room full dressed. 

Shortly afterwards, Mrs. Blimber appeared, 
looking lovely, Paul thought, and attired in such a 
number of skirts that it was quite an excursion to 
walk round her. Miss Blimber came down soon 
after her mamma, a little squeezed in appearance, 
but very charming. 

Mr. Toots and Mr. Feeder were the next 
arrivals. Each of these gentlemen brought his hat 
in his hand, as if he lived somewhere elsej and when 
they were announced by the butler. Doctor Blimber 
said, Aye, aye, aye ! God bless my soul ! ” and 
seemed extremely glad to see them. Mr. Toots was 
one blaze of jewelry and buttons; and he felt the 


172 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


circumstance so strongly, that when he had shaken 
hands with the Doctor, and had bowed to Mrs. 
Blimber and Miss Blimber, he took Paul aside and 
said, *^^What do you think of this, Dombey?’’ 

Paul now slipped away from the cushioned 
corner of a sofa, which had been his post of observa- 
tion, and went down stairs into the tea-room to be 
ready for Florence. 

Presently she came, looking so beautiful in her 
simple ball-dress, with her fresh flowers in her hand, 
that when she knelt down on the ground to take 
Paul round the neck and kiss him, he could hardly 
make up his mind to let her go again, or take away 
her bright and loving eyes from his face. 

But Avhat is the matter, Floy?’’ asked Paul, 
almost sure that he saw a tear there. 

^^IN^othing, darling — nothing,” returned Florence. 

Paul touched her cheek gently with his finger — 
and it teas a tear! ''Why, Floy!” said he. 

"We’ll go home together, and I’ll take care of 
you, love,” said Florence. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


173 


Take care of me ! ’’ echoed Paul. 

Paul couldn’t understand what that had to do 
with it, nor why Florence turned away her face 
for a moment and then turned it back, lighted up 
again with smiles. 

Floy,” said Paul, holding a ringlet of her dark 
hair in his hand, tell me, dear — do you think I 
have grown old-fashioned?” 

His sister laughed, kissed him, and told him, 
No.” 

Because I know they say so,” returned Paul, 
and I want to know what they mean, Floy.” 

But a loud double knock coming at the door, 
and Florence hunying to the table, there was no 
more said between them. 

It was Sir Barnet Skettles, Lady Skettles, and 
Master Skettles. Master Skettles was to be a new 
boy after the vacation. 

And what room is this now, for instance?” 
said Lady Skettles to the young woman in 
attendance. 


174 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


" Doctor Blimber’s study, ma’am,” was the 
reply. 

Lady Skettles took a panoramic survey of it 
through her glass, and said to Sir Barnet Skettles, 
with a nod of approval, "Yerygood.” Sir Barnet 
assented, but Master Skettles looked suspicious and 
doubtful. 

" And this little creature, now,” said Lady 
Skettles, turning to Paul — ” is he one of the — ” 

"Young gentlemen, ma’am; yes, ma’am.” 

" And what is your name, my pale child? ” said 
Lady Skettles. 

" Dombey,” answered Paul. 

Sir Barnet Skettles said that he had had the 
honor of meeting Paul’s father at a jiublic dinner, 
and that he hoped he was very well. And then he 
said to Paul, "Will you tell your good papa that 
Sir Barnet Skettles rejoiced to hear that he was very 
well, and sent him his best compliments?” 

" Yes, sir,” answered Paul. 

"What eyes! What hair! What a lovely 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


175 


face ! ” exclaimed Lady Skettles, softly, as she 
looked at Florence through her glass. 

My sister/’ said Paul, presenting her. 

The satisfaction of the Skettleses was now 
complete. And as Lady Skettles had conceived, at 
first sight, a liking for Paul, they all went np stairs 
together — Sir Barnet Skettles taking care of 
Florence, and young Barnet following. 

Young Barnet did not remain long in the back- 
ground after they had reached the drawing-room, 
for Doctor Blimber had him out in no time, dancing 
with Florence. 

He did not appear to Paul to be particularly 
happy, or particularly anything but sulky, or to care 
much what he was about. 

When Paul came into the room again, he 
thought it a little strange that they should all make 
way for him. Yobody stood before him either, 
when they observed that he liked to see Florence 
dancing, but they left the space in front quite clear, 
so that he might follow her with his eyes. 


176 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


Even the strangers, of whom there were soon 
a great many, came and spoke to him every now and 
then, and asked him how he was, and if his head 
ached, and whether he was tired. 

He was very much obliged to them for all their 
kindness and attention, and, reclining propped up in 
his corner, with Mrs. Blimber and Lady Skettles on 
the same sofa, and Florence coming and sitting by 
his side as soon as every dance was ended, he looked 
on very happily indeed. 

Florence would have sat by him all night, and 
would not have danced at all, but Paul made her, by 
telling her how much it pleased him. And he told 
her the truth, too; for his small heart swelled, and 
his face glowed, when he saw how much they all 
admired hei-, and that she was the beautiful little 
rosebud of the room. 

From his nest among the pillows, Paul could 
see and hear almost everything that passed, as if the 
whole were being done for his amusement. 

Once, when there was a pause in the dancing. 


PAUL BOMBEY. 


177 


Lady Skettles told Paul that he seemed very fond 
of music. Paul replied that he was; and if she was 
too, she ought to hear his sister Florence sing. 

Florence was at first very much frightened at 
being asked to sing before so many people, and 
begged earnestly to be excused, yet, on Paul calling 
her to him, and saying, ^^Do, Ploy! Please! For 
me, my deaid ’’ she went straight to the piano, and 
began. 

When they all drew a little away, that Paul 
might see her, and when he saw her sitting there 
alone, so young, and good, and beautiful, and kind 
to him, and heard her thrilling voice, so natural and 
sweet, and such a golden link between him and all 
his life’s love and happiness, rising out of the 
silence, he turned his face away, and hid his tears. 
Not, as he told them when they spoke to him, not 
that the music was too plaintive or too sorrowful, 
but it was so dear to him. 

They all loved Florence. How could they help 
it? Paul had known beforehand that they must and 


178 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


would; and, sitting in his cushioned corner, with 
calndy folded hands, and one leg loosely doubled 
under him, few would have thought what triumph 
and delight expanded his childish bosom while he 
watched her, or what a sweet sense of peace he felt. 

Pi*aises of ” Dombey’s sister ” reached his ears 
from all the boys — admii'ation of the modest little 
beauty was on every lip — reports of her intelligence 
and accomplishments floated past him constantly. 

Thus little Paul sat musing, listening, looking 
on, and dreaming; and was very happy. 

Until the time arrived for taking leave — and 
then, indeed, there was a sensation in the party. 
Sir Barnet Skettles brought up Skettles Junior to 
shake hands with him, and asked him if he would 
remember to tell his good papa, with his best com- 
pliments, that he. Sir Barnet Skettles, had said he 
hoped the two young gentlemen would become 
intimately acquainted. Lady Skettles kissed him, 
and parted his hair upon his brow, and held him in 
her arms. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


179 


Good-bye, Doctor Blimber/’ said Paul, stretch- 
ing out his hand. 

Good-bye, my little friend,” returned the 
Doctor. 

I’m very much obliged to you, sir,” said Paul, 
looking innocently up into his awful face. ^^Ask 
them to take care of Diogenes, if you please.” 

Diogenes was the dog, who had never in his 
life received a friend into his confidence before Paul. 
The Doctor promised that every attention should be 
paid to Diogenes in Paul’s absence; and Paul, 
having again thanked him, and shaken hands with 
him, bade adieu to Mrs. Blimber and Cornelia. 

Cornelia, taking Paul’s hands in hers, said, 
Dombey, Dombey, you have always been my 
favorite pupil. God bless you!” 

A buzz then went round among the young 
gentlemen of Dombey’s going! Little Dombey’s 
going! ” and there was a general move after Paul 
and Florence down the staircase and into the hall, 
in which the whole Blimber family were included. 


180 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


The servants, with the butler at their head, had 
all an interest in seeing little Domhey go ; and even 
the weak-eyed young man, taking out his books and 
ti’unks to the coach that was to carry him and 
Florence to Mrs. Pipchin’s foi‘ the night, melted 
visibly. 

Once, for a last look, he turned and gazed upon 
the faces thus addressed to him, surprised to see 
how shining and how bright and numerous they 
were, and how they were all piled and heaped up, as 
faces are at crowded theati*es. They swam before 
him, as he looked, and next moment he was in the 
dark coach outside, holding close to Florence. 

From that time, whenever he thought of Doctor 
Blimber’s, it came back as he had seen it in this last 
view ; and it never seemed to be a real place again, 
but always a dream, full of eyes. 

This was not quite the last of Doctor Blimber’s, 
however. There was something else. There was 
Mr. Toots, who, unexpectedly letting down one of 
the coach- windows, and looking in, said, with a most 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


181 


egregious chuckle, "Is Dombey there?” and immedi- 
ately put it up again, without waiting for an answer, 
Hor was this quite the last of Mr. Toots even; for 
before the coachman could drive off, he as suddenly 
let down the other window, and looking in with a 
precisely similar chuckle, said, in a jirecisely similar 
tone of voice, "Is Dombey there?” and disappeared 
precisely as before. 

How Florence laughed! Paul often remem- 
bered it, and laughed himself whenever he did so. 

But there was much, soon afterwards — next 
day, and after that — which Paul could only recollect 
confusedly. As, why they stayed at Mrs. Pipchin’s 
instead of going home; why he lay in bed, with 
Florence sitting by his side; whether that had been 
his father in the room, or only a shadow on the wall. 

He could not even remember whether he had 
often said to Florence, " Oh, Floy, take me home, 
and never leave me ! ” but he thought he had. He 
fancied sometimes he had heard himself repeating, 
Take me home, Floy ! take me home ! ” 


182 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


But he could remember, when he got home, and 
was carried up the well-remembered stairs, that there 
had been the rumbling of a coach for many hours 
together, while he lay upon the seat with Florence 
still beside him, and old Mrs. Pipchin sitting oppo- 
site. He remembered his old bed, too, when they 
laid him down in it — his aunt and Susan — but 
there was something else, that still j^erplexed him. 

" I want to speak to Florence, if you please,” he 
said. " To Florence by herself, for a moment! ” 

She bent down over him, and the others stood 
away. 

"Floy, my pet, wasn’t that papa in the hall 
when they brought me from the coach ? ” 

" Yes, dear.” 

" He didn’t cry, and go into his room, Floy, did 
he, when he saw me coming in ? ” 

Florence shook her head, and pressed her lips 
against his cheek. 

" I’m very glad he didn’t cry,” said little Paul. 
" I thought he did. Don’t tell them that I asked.” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


183 


PAUL’S ILLNESS. 

Paul had never risen from his little bed. He 
lay there, listening to the noises in the “street, quite 
tranquilly; not caring much how the time went, but 
watching it, and watching everything about him with 
observing eyes. 

When the sunbeams struck into his room 
through the rustling blinds, and quivered on the 
opposite wall like golden water, he knew that 
evening was coming on, and that the sky was red 
and beautiful. As the reflection died away, and a 
gloom went creeping up the wall, he watched it 
deepen, deepen, deepen into night. 

Then he thought how the long streets were 
dotted with lamps, and how the peaceful stars were 
shining overhead. 

His fancy had a strange tendency to wmnder to 
the river, which he knew was flowing through the 
great city, and now he thought how black it was, 


184 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


and how deep it would look, reflecting the hosts of 
stars — and more than all, how steadily it rolled 
away to meet the sea. 

As it grew later in the night, and footsteps in 
the street became so rare that he could hear them 
coming, count them as they paused, and lose them in 
the hollow distance, he would lie and watch the 
many-colored ring about the candle, and wait 
patiently for day. 

His only trouble was the swift and rapid river. 
He felt forced, sometimes, to try to stop it — to stem 
it with his childish hands — or choke its way with 
sand — and when he saw it coming on, resistless, he 
cried out! But a word from Florence, who was 
always at his side, restored him to himself; and 
leaning his poor head upon her breast, he told Floy 
of his dream, and smiled. 

When day began to dawn again, he watched 
for the sun; and when its cheerful light began to 
sparkle in the room, he pictured to himself — 
pictured he saw — the high church towers rising 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


185 


np into the morning sky, the town reviving, waking, 
starting into life once more, the river glistening as it 
rolled (but rolling fast as ever), and the country 
bright with dew. 

Familiar sounds and cries came by degrees into 
the street below; the servants in the house were 
roused and busy; faces looked in at the door, and 
asked his attendants softly how he was. 

Paul always answered for himself — *'1 am 
better. I am a great deal better, thank you. Tell 
papa so.” 

By little and little, he got tired of the bustle of 
the day, the noise of carriages and carts, and people 
passing and re-passing, and would fall asleeji, or be 
troubled with a restless and uneasy sense again — 
the child could hardly tell whether this were in his 
sleeping or his waking moments — of that rushing 
river. " Why will it never stop, Floy ? ” he would 
sometimes ask her. " It is bearing me away, I 
think!” 

But Floy could always soothe him; and it was 


186 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


his daily delight to make her lay her head down on 
his pillow, and take some rest. 

" You are always watching me, Floy. Let me 
watch you, now ! ” They would prop him up with 
cushions in a corner of his bed, and there he would 
recline the while she lay beside him — bending for- 
ward oftentimes to kiss her, and whispering to those 
who were near that she was tired, and that she had 
sat up so many nights beside him. 

"Floy! ” he said, one day, " what is that?” 
"Where, dearest?” 

" There I — at the bottom of the bed.” 

" Thei’e’s nothing there, except papa ! ” 

The figure lifted up its head, and rose, and, 
coming to the bedside, said — 

" My own boy! Don’t yon know me? ” 

Paul looked it in the face, and thought — W as 
this his father? But the face, so altered, to his 
thinking, thrilled while he gazed, as if it were in 
pain; and, before he could reach out both his hands 
to take it between them, and draw it towards him. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


187 


the figure turned away quickly from the little bed, 
and went out at the door. 

Paul looked at Florence with a fluttering heart, 
but he knew what she was going to say, and stopped 
her with his face against her lips. The next time he 
observed the figure sitting at the bottom of the bed, 
he called to it. 

" Don’t be so sorry for me, dear papa ! Indeed, 
I am quite happy! ” 

His father, coming and bending down to him, 
Paul held him round the neck, and repeated those 
words to him several times, and very earnestly; and 
Paul never saw him in his room again at any time, 
whether it were day or night, but he called out, 
"Don’t be so sorry for me! Indeed I am quite 
happy ! ” This was the beginning of his always 
saying in the morning that he was a gi'eat deal 
better, and that they were to tell his father so. 

How many times the golden water danced upon 
the wall; how many nights the dark, dark river 
rolled towards the sea in spite of him — Paul never 


188 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


counted — never sought to know. If their kind- 
ness, or his sense of it, could have increased, they 
were more kind, and he more grateful every day; 
but whether there were many days or few, appeared 
of little moment now to the gentle boy. 

One night he had been thinking of his mother, 
and her picture in the drawing-room down stairs, 
and had thought she must have loved sweet Florence 
better than his father did, to have held her in her 
arms when she felt that she was dying — for even 
he, her brother, who had such dear love for her, 
could have no greater wish than that. 

"Floy, did I ever see mamma?” 

"No, darling; why” 

" Did I never see any kind face like a mamma’s, 
looking at me when I was a baby, Floy ? ” 

" Oh, yes, dear ! ” 

"Whose, Floy?” 

" Your old nurse’s — often.” 

" And where is my old nurse? ’* said Paul. " Is 
she dead, too? Floy, are we all dead, except you?” 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


189 


There was a huriy in the room, for an instant — 
longer, perhaps; but it seemed no more — then all 
was still again; and Florence, with her face quite 
colorless, but smiling, held his head upon her arm. 
Her arm trembled very much. 

” Show me that old nurse, Floy, if you please ! ” 
” She is not here, darling. She shall come 
to-morrow.” 

"Thank yon, Floyl ” 



190 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


DEATH OF LITTLE PAUL. 

Paul closed his eyes with those words^ and fell 
asleep. When he awoke the sun was high, and the 
broad day was clear and warm. He lay a little, 
looking at the windows, which were open, and the 
curtains rustling in the air, and waving to and fro; 
then he said, ^^Floy, is it to-morrow? Is she come?’’ 

Some one seemed to go in quest of her. Per- 
haps it was Susan. Paul thought he heard her 
telling him when he had closed his eyes again, that 
she would soon be back; but he did not open them 
to see. She kept her word — perhaps she had never 
been away — but the next thing that happened was 
a noise of footsteps on the stairs, and then Paul 
woke — woke mind and body — and sat upright in 
his bed. He saw them now about him. There was 
no gray mist before them, as there had been some- 
times in the night. He knew them every one, and 
called them by their names. 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


191 


"And who is this? Is this my old nurse?” said 
the child, regarding with a radiant smile a figure 
coming in. 

Yes, yes. No other stranger would have shed 
those tears at sight of him, and called him her dear 
boy, her pretty boy, her own poor, blighted child. 
No other woman would have stooped down by his 
bed, and taken up his wasted hand, and put it to her 
lips and breast, as one who had some right to fondle 
it. No other woman would have so forgotten evei*y- 
body there but him and Floy, and been so full of 
tenderness and pity. 

"Floy, this is a kind, good face!” said Paul. 
"I am glad to see it again. Don’t go away, old 
nurse ! Stay here ! ” 

His senses were all quickened, and he heard a 
name he knew. 

" Who was that who said ' Walter ’? ” he asked, 
looking round. "Some one said Walter. Is he 
here? I should like to see him very much.” 

Nobody replied directly; but his father soon 


PAUL UOMBEY. 


said to Susaii, " Call him back, then — let him come 
np!” After a short pause of expectation, during 
which he looked with smiling intei’est and wonder 
on his nurse, and saw that she had not forgotten 
Floy, Walter was brought into the room. His open 
face and manner, and his cheerful eyes, had always 
made him a favorite with Paul; and when Paul saw 
him, he stretched out his hand, and said, ‘ Good- 
bye!” 

" Good-bye, my child ! ” cried Mrs. Pipchin, 
hurrying to his bed’s head. "Not good-bye?” 

For an instant, Paul looked at her with the 
wistful face with Avhich he had so often gazed upon 
her in his corner by the fire. "Ah, yes,” he said, 
placidly, "good-bye! Walter, dear, good-bye!” — 
turning his head to where he stood, and putting 
out his hand again. "Where is jiapa?” 

He felt his father’s breath iq^on his cheek, 
before the words had parted from his lips. 

"Remember Walter, dear papa,” he whispered, 
looking in his face. "Remember Walter. I was 


PAUL DOMBEY. 


19S 


fond of Walter! The feeble hand waved in the 
air, as if it cried, Good-bye ! to Walter once again. 

^^'Now lay me down,’’ he said; and, Floy, 
come close to me, and let me see you!” 

Sister and brother wound their arms around 
each other, and the golden light came streaming, and 
fell upon them, locked together. 

^'^How fast the river runs, between its green 
banks and the rushes, Floy ! But it’s very near the 
sea. I hear the waves I They always said so ! ” 

Presently he told her that the motion of the 
boat upon the stream was lulling him to rest. How 
green the banks were now, how bright the flowers 
growing on them, and how tall the rushes! J^^ow 
the boat was out at sea, but gliding smoothly on. 
And now there was a shore before him. Who stood 
on the bank? — 

He put his hands together, as he had been used 
to do at his prayers. He did not remove his arms 
to do it; but they saw him fold them so, behind her 
neck. 


194 


PAUL DOMBEY> 


" Mamma is like you, Floy. I know her by the 
face! But tell them that the print upon the stairs at 
school is not divine enough. The light about the 
head is shining on me as I go ! ” 

The golden ripple on the wall came back again, 
and nothing else stirred in the room. The old, old 
fashion! The fashion that came in with our first 
garments, and will last nnehanged until our race has 
run its course, and the wide firmament is rolled up 
like a scroll. The old, old fashion — Death ! 





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